


The Boy in the Chimney

by CozyMittens



Series: The Boy in the Chimney [1]
Category: Mary Poppins (Movies), Mary Poppins - P. L. Travers
Genre: Admiral Boom, Constable Jones, Drama, Family Bonding, Gen, Mary Poppins Returns, Mr. Binnacle, Original Character(s), Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-03-29 14:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19021711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CozyMittens/pseuds/CozyMittens
Summary: Bert lived with a foot in two different worlds.  He knew that a delightful romp with Mary Poppins on London’s rooftops was not the same as the grim reality of a child forced to climb a narrow chimney.  A child like that, without Mary Poppins to protect him, was in terrible danger.





	1. Trapped

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for child endangerment and abuse. Also use of archaic and offensive words to describe the developmentally disabled

It had been illegal for over 30 years to use children to clean chimneys, but in the winter of 1911 rumors began to circulate among the sweeps of London that one of their own was using a child. At first the rumors were vague, like curls of smoke, but soon they began to coalesce into a coherent story. The child was a little boy unable to speak or understand when people spoke to him. Some said he was deaf, but others said he was feeble minded. Some said the sweep had stolen him from an orphanage or an asylum. The sweep never spoke to the boy. Instead he grabbed, pushed or slapped the child until the boy did what the sweep wanted.

The good sweeps of London were horrified and kept a watch for the malevolent sweep and the little boy. But the sweep and the child moved in the half shadow of their world as insubstantial as the chimney smoke itself. Bert was especially worried. He knew that a delightful romp with Mary Poppins on London’s rooftops was different than the grim reality of a child forced to climb a narrow chimney. A child like that, without Mary Poppins to protect him, was in terrible danger. Bert visited each house on Cherry Tree Lane. He explained the situation and asked each family to keep an eye out for a sweep and a child. If anyone spotted the pair they should find a policeman or another chimney sweep at once. 

It was Admiral Boom who saw the pair on a rainy morning in early spring. He was up on deck of his house looking through his telescope. The sweep and the little boy were crossing the park towards the street on the other side. The boy stumbled and the big man grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him. He continued to grip the small child and the Admiral could see that the little boy was crying. His mind working rapidly Admiral Boom shouted to Mr. Binnacle. Run, he said, and stop the sweep. Pretend that the Admiral wanted his chimney cleaned. Once the pair was in the house, Mr. Binnacle must leave and find Bert or a policeman. The Admiral would keep them in the house as long as he could.

The plan worked well except that it took Mr. Binnacle a long time to find Bert. The rain had kept Bert from his usual outdoor jobs and Mr. Binnacle had to search over a large area before he found him. Fortunately, he spotted Constable Jones at almost the same time. The three men hurried back to Cherry Tree Lane,

Inside Admiral Boom’s house things were not going well. The Admiral had shown the sweep and the boy into his study where the coals of last night’s fire were still warm in the fireplace. If the Admiral thought that live coals might slow the sweep down he was mistaken. The sweep, a large surly man whose name was Scrugg, brought out a bucket and shovel from his tool cart and began scooping the hot coals into it. While the sweep was busy the Admiral studied the little boy accompanying him. He was filthy and the ragged clothes he had on were clearly not warm enough for the chilly morning. Now that he was closer the Admiral could see that the skin on the boy’s elbows and knees was scraped raw and his eyes were red rimmed and sore. The Admiral guessed that he was five or maybe six years old. Silently the little boy helped spread dust covers on the furniture and arrange the brushes in front of the fire place. The sweep didn’t even try to speak to him, merely grunting or grabbing the boy by the arm and pushing him in the direction he wanted him to go.

Suddenly, the sweep grabbed the boy by the collar, pressed a small brush in his hand , and shoved him towards the fireplace. Without a sound the boy vanished up the chimney. It happened so quickly and noiselessly that the Admiral was taken by surprise. “Here now!” he exclaimed, “You can’t do that. Get him down!”

The sweep turned to look at the Admiral and grinned. “Too late for that,” he said, “He’s a retard. He only knows but one way and that’s up.”

Furiously the Admiral gripped his cane and tried to think. He was closer to 70 than 60 and he had a bad leg. He knew he was no match physically compared to the sweep, but he was desperate to get the boy out of the chimney. In the meantime scrabbling sounds in the flue and a rain of soot marked the boy’s progress. Then the sounds abruptly stopped.

“Stuck,” muttered the sweep. He leaned into the fireplace and called threateningly up the chimney. “Jack! Get a move on or I’ll light the fire under ya! I got the coals right here to do it.” And he banged his shovel against the pail as proof.

“You will not!” shouted the Admiral and brought his cane down on the sweep’s head. “Hey!” shouted the startled sweep and swung his fist around. The blow caught the Admiral and sent him crashing into the wall. Just then the front door burst open and Bert and Mr. Binnacle came running into the room. 

“Little boy,” gasped the admiral, “trapped in the chimney.”

Bert had no clear memory of what he did next. Mr. Binnacle told him that he had taken a mighty swing at the sweep and hit him so hard he knocked him down. Then Bert had grabbed the man and flung him into the hall. What Bert would never forget came after that.

Bert stood in the fireplace desperately listening for any sound. He knew the chimney from experience. About twelve feet up it narrowed abruptly and that was the most likely spot for the little boy to be caught. He hoped and prayed that the boy hadn’t been trapped further up. There was no way Bert would be able to get his body through the narrow opening to rescue the child. Quickly he grabbed his handkerchief and tied it over his mouth and nose. 

“Does he have a name?” he asked. 

“The sweep called him Jack,” wheezed the Admiral. 

“Alright, up I go then,” said Bert and using his elbows and knees in the corners of the chimney he began to work his way up the flue. 

It was pitch black inside the chimney and the bricks were still uncomfortably warm from last night’s fire. The air was hot and suffocating. The boy’s progress had dislodged a great deal of soot and Bert, thankful for his handkerchief, had to shake it off his face. He found the child where he expected. The left leg had slipped and the little boy had slid back wedging himself in the tight space with the right leg bent in front of him. Bert could feel the dangling left leg. He braced his knees against the walls of the chimney and moved his hand upwards where he could feel the small bottom and the right foot. Mercifully the child was still alive and hadn’t suffocated in the poisoned air of the flue. Bert could feel the shuddering sobs running through the little body though as yet the boy hadn’t made any attempt to cry out or speak. 

Bert braced himself in the chimney with his knees in the corners. He thought if he could push upward on the bottom while pulling gently on the foot he could dislodge the child. But he desperately needed the boy to relax or the tension in his body would keep him in that position. Trying to keep his voice gentle Bert began speaking. “Jack, is your name Jack? My name’s Bert, I’m going to help you. It’s going to be all right.” For what seemed like an eternity Bert crooned and spoke to the child. He sang bits of songs and nursery rhymes and kept up a soft patter of words trying to soothe him. All the while Bert kept pressure on the boy’s bottom while pulling on the foot. The stress on his knees was growing unbearable and Bert feared they would give way before he could get Jack free of the chimney.

Then just as Bert felt his knees slip the little body moved, the right leg came loose and Jack started to fall. Bert slid down the chimney with him trying to control the descent and protect the little boy from further bruising. They landed in a heap in the fireplace.

*****************************************************************************************************************************************************

Bert sat in the Admiral’s armchair cradling the child, who was now in his arms wrapped in a blanket. Though the boy continued to sob silently, he still hadn’t spoken, and this worried Bert almost more than the bruises he could see on the little boy’s arms and legs. Jack (if that really was his name) was holding tightly to Bert’s coat and refusing to let go. Bert shifted so that he could hold the shaking child a little more comfortably.

Constable Jones had chased after the sweep, who as soon as he got up from the floor where Bert had thrown him had run off. Though he had pursued him for several blocks the sweep had a head start and Constable Jones lost him in the alleys of the business area. Now he was taking statements from the Admiral and Mr. Binnacle, but Bert noticed that he wasn’t writing anything down.

Bert nodded toward the boy in his arms and said, “We should take him to a hospital or a doctor and get him looked at. Make sure that he’s all right.”

Constable Jones looked at Bert and the other two men. He was a kind man with children of his own and his heart was aching over the plight of this little boy. He spoke softly but clearly. “That may not be such a good idea. There’s something wrong with the boy. He hasn’t spoken a word and he doesn’t seem to understand when we speak to him. The sweep called him a ‘retard.’ There’s a good chance he came from an asylum.” He looked somberly at Bert. “There’s only one close by and it’s a bad place. Children can disappear real fast in there. The sweep wouldn’t have had to kidnap him, just bribe one of the staff to give the boy to him.”

“If I take him to a hospital the authorities will get involved and there’s a good chance he’ll be sent back there or somewhere just as bad. As for the sweep, it’s unlikely he’ll be arrested. Who will press charges if the victim can’t speak and has been shuffled away out of sight and mind?”

Constable Jones paused and spoke deliberately, “It would be better for the boy if he stays out of the system. I can’t take him home with me and the Admiral can’t keep him. It would cause too much talk, and questions would get asked. But if someone lower down took him, an itinerant laborer say, who works a bunch of odd jobs and stays different places, it might not get noticed so much. He could say that the boy was a relative or his ‘apprentice.’ I’m not saying it would be permanent but it’d give us some time to figure out who he is and find him somewhere safe to live.”

It made sense. The half shadow of the chimney sweep world had made it possible for the sweep to move for months with the child, unnoticed by the rest of London. The same shadow could be used to protect him. 

Bert looked down at the little boy in his arms. The shaking had gradually subsided while the men were talking and the tight grip on Bert’s coat had relaxed a little. The eyes were closed and the regular breathing suggested that the exhausted child had fallen asleep. Bert looked up. He met Constable Jones’ eyes and gave him a brief nod.


	2. Chapter 2

It didn’t take long for Bert to realize that, in spite of Constable Jones’ warning, Jack had to go to a doctor. While the little boy slept Bert and Mr. Binnacle managed to remove the filthy clothes and sponge off the worst of the soot and grime. The sponge bath had revealed a small body that was only skin and bones and most of the skin was scraped or bruised. In addition to the bruising from the chimney, Bert could see black and blue marks on Jack’s back and thighs that looked suspiciously like welts. The little boy was running a fever and even in his sleep had a serious cough. When he awoke he wept silently and constantly rubbed his eyes which were red and sore. Bert knew a doctor in the East End that didn’t ask questions. Jack’s filthy clothes were unwearable so Mr. Binnacle provided Bert with one of his older shirts to at least keep the child covered. Bert wrapped Jack in a blanket and left Number 16 after dark. It was almost 9 o’clock when he knocked on the doctor’s door. 

The doctor was home and led Bert into his office. He was brisk and efficient yet tried to be kind. Bert held Jack while the doctor listened to his lungs and took his temperature. The doctor gently washed Jack’s eyes with a mild boric acid solution and gave Bert a cold compress to place over his eyes to ease the itching and irritation. Through it all Bert tried not to worry about the doctor’s grim expression or the fact that Jack was too sick to put up any kind of fuss. The doctor knew Bert personally and he asked only one question. “Will he be staying with you?” When Bert answered yes the doctor looked relieved but merely nodded. 

Once his examination was finished the doctor started to assemble a stock of medicine for Bert to take with him including aspirin, cough syrup and salves for Jack’s skin. He went over each medicine and how often it should be given and made Bert repeat it all back so he knew Bert understood what to do. Jack’s lungs were badly congested and without proper care the doctor warned he could develop pneumonia. Jack needed to be kept inside where it was warm and put to bed. He shouldn’t be left alone and Bert would need help. With proper rest and food the little boy’s health should improve. If it didn’t than Bert would need to come back and have him tested for tuberculosis. The doctor really didn’t think he had it, but he couldn’t rule it out completely, especially with Jack being so thin. He didn’t know why the little boy didn’t speak, but it was obvious the child had been through something traumatic. The best advice he could offer was to give it time. The doctor refused to charge Bert for the visit saying he could work it off later by cleaning the chimney or doing some of the repairs the old building needed.

Bert returned to the Admiral’s house where a makeshift infirmary was being set up in the guest room. It had been agreed among the three men that Bert would stay as long as Jack needed care. It turned out that Mr. Binnacle had been an assistant to the ships surgeon and was a splendid nurse. He quickly set up a schedule for Jack’s medicine, lit a fire to take the chill off the room and bustled about getting hot water bottles and extra pillows and blankets. He and Bert split Jack’s care with Mr. Binnacle doing the day time when Bert was working. Bert left and returned unobtrusively by the back door and the Admiral maintained his schedule so that no one was aware that extra people were staying in the house.

Bert had a lot on his plate with having to finish up the jobs he had started and finding a place to stay that would also allow children. On his own Bert went from place to place and often slept rough in the warm weather. That wasn’t going to work now that he was responsible for a child. Admiral Boom had made it clear that he would help financially with extra expenses and Bert knew he would accept the help if needed. But if they were to maintain the story that Jack was related to him, Bert needed to do as much on his own as possible.

Jack slept for most of the first week, awaking only to eat and take his medicine. Admiral Boom, who wasn’t very good around sick people, had purchased a new fangled toy called a teddy bear as his contribution to Jack’s care. Bert returned one afternoon to find Jack wide awake. He was lying in the bed, arms around the bear, warily watching Mr. Binnacle who sat in a chair on the other side of the room. 

“How long has he been awake,” asked Bert? 

“About an hour,” replied Mr. Binnacle. 

“Has he moved?”

“Nope, just laid there watchin’. He’s a cautious one he is. Not sure who he’s goin’ to trust. Best just to carry on and let him come round.”

That was what they did. By the time Bert left with Jack he had established an uneasy bond with the child. Jack stayed close to Bert and Bert had no reason to believe that he would try to run away. But Bert sensed that Jack wasn’t sure that Bert was safe, only that Bert was safer than anyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do not give small children aspirin. The connection between Reyes syndrome and aspirin was not discovered until the 1980s a good 70 years after this story takes place. Before then it was pretty standard to give children a small dose of aspirin to control fever.


	3. Chapter 3

So Jack became part of the neighborhood at Cherry Tree Lane. Bert told anyone who asked that Jack was his nephew and he was looking out for him now. He offered no explanations and let people draw their own conclusions. He continued to call the little boy Jack. Bert didn’t think that was his name—for one thing the child didn’t respond to it. But he couldn’t think of anything else to call him and it was a name that he genuinely liked. 

Soon the sight of Jack’s small figure trotting beside Bert’s tall frame became a familiar sight. The difference in their heights always attracted attention as well as the teddy bear that Jack carried everywhere. Teddy had been Jack’s constant companion since leaving Admiral Boom’s house. Bert had tied two bandanas together in a kind of sling that went around Jack’s body, partly so he could carry Teddy more easily and partly so Teddy wouldn’t get lost. He needn’t have worried. Jack never let Teddy out of his sight.

Constable Jones, the Admiral and Bert agreed that the fewer people who knew Jack’s story the better. The Admiral, however, had spoken to Mr. Banks. The Admiral worried about Mrs. Banks. She was kind hearted and genuinely concerned about people, and she implicitly trusted the institutions around her. The Admiral was afraid she would report Bert and Jack to the authorities because she was anxious about the little boy. Mr. Banks, however, felt that the Admiral and Bert had taken the right course, and since Constable Jones was involved he thought it best to leave well enough alone. Bert had no legal claim to Jack and might even be in trouble for keeping him. It would be a bitter irony, Mr. Banks thought, if Bert was accused of kidnapping the little boy whose life he had saved.

Mr. Banks found extra jobs for Bert to do and quietly asked Mrs. Brill to make additional food available when Bert and Jack were in the neighborhood. Mrs. Brill became adept at fixing too much food for the Banks family. It seemed she always had a little something left over that needed to be eaten before it spoiled. Though she could be strict in rationing treats to Jane and Michael, she always had a biscuit or piece of gingerbread set aside for Jack. And, in spite of the fact that she didn’t care much for children and was firm in her refusal to watch Jane and Michael, Mrs. Brill found herself growing fond of the silent little boy.

He still wasn’t talking. Bert did everything he could think of to get Jack to speak. He talked to him constantly and sang songs. He played baby games with Jack’s fingers and toes and succeeded in getting Jack to laugh when he played “This little piggy.” But the boy remained silent. Bert was sure he was intelligent and understood more than people realized. Jack’s brown eyes watched the world with a wariness that broke Bert’s heart, and he wondered constantly about where Jack had come from and how he had fallen into the evil hands of the sweep.

Jack was anxious about food. He gobbled his food quickly, all the time watching Bert to see if he would take it away. Bert realized that depriving Jack of food had been one of the ways the sweep had forced the little boy to cooperate. His first impulse was to let Jack eat as much and as quickly as he wanted, but he realized the boy had to eat slowly or his starved little stomach would rebel. He doled the meals out piece by piece, letting Jack finish before the next one came. He sat far enough away that Jack knew he wouldn’t reach over and grab the food away. Eventually Jack came to trust that Bert would let him eat, but he kept little pieces of food in his pockets. Bert was inclined to let this pass if it made Jack feel better. But he worried that the food Jack was hoarding would spoil and make him ill. Bert solved the problem by giving him an apple to put in his pocket. Jack rarely ate the fruit, but its presence seemed to make him more secure. Often he fell asleep with his hand around the apple. 

Bert found Jack more puzzling as the days passed. Once Jack had eaten and was assured that Bert would not snatch food away from him he had very nice manners for a child. He chewed with his mouth closed and knew how to manage a knife and fork. He also knew how to use a face cloth to wash his neck and behind his ears, and how to brush his teeth. To Bert this suggested a child that had been well cared for and even loved, but the pitifully thin body and wracking cough spoke of a child on thin rations and hard labor. 

The cough persisted through the spring to the point where Bert feared he would have to take Jack back to the doctor. It was worse at night and Bert made sure Jack slept with his head elevated often sitting up with him in a chair until they both fell asleep. Bert hoped that the cough was Jack’s body trying to rid itself of all the soot he had inhaled rather than a symptom of something worse. But as the weather warmed and Jack spent more time in the fresh air, the cough gradually got better.

As the spring and summer passed Jack lost his starved appearance. His cheeks filled out and grew plump and rosy. He was small and with his big brown eyes and mop of dark hair he was irresistible to the older girls and some of the young women in the neighborhood. Several tried to cuddle him, but that scared him and he would run to Bert crying silently. Finally Bert pinned a piece of paper to Jack’s shirt that said, “Please don’t hug me. I am very shy.”

It was a mild summer and the weather in the morning and evening was often chilly. So when Mrs. Banks offered Bert a box of Michael’s outgrown clothes that contained some warmer garments, he gratefully accepted it. As well as a warm coat and hat that would be useful for the winter, the box also contained a few toys and books. Jack ignored the toys but eagerly reached for the books. Taking the books and Teddy, Jack headed to the corner of the little room Bert was renting and sat cross legged on the floor. Bert watched in wonder as Jack quickly turned the pages of one book in particular. He was smiling and his finger excitedely traced the pictures on the page. He looked up with the happiest smile Bert had seen and spoke his first word. “Conejo,” said Jack pointing to the picture in the book. “Coney?” asked Bert as he slowly approached Jack and sat down beside him on the floor. He looked down at the picture Jack was pointing to. “Do you mean rabbit?” There on the page was a familiar brown rabbit wearing a little blue coat. Jack looked up and Bert and slowly repeated, “Rabbit.” Then he nodded, “Si, El cuento de Pedro, el conejo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coney can refer to several kinds of animals and fish but in England was used as a name for the European Rabbit. It was fading from usage and being replaced by the word rabbit but you can still find references to it in literature. Ex. Lord of the Rings when Sam makes stew of the coneys Gollum snared.


	4. Answers and Questions

“And you’re sure it was a different language, not just baby talk.” Mrs. Brill was standing in the kitchen of Number 17 holding the large brown family tea pot. Bert was sitting at the table watching Jack as he ate a piece of gingerbread Mrs. Brill had set aside for him. Teddy had his own chair next to Jack. Bert had spent the morning doing some much needed yard work around the house. These sorts of jobs had become more frequent since the departure of Robertson Ay the Banks’ man of all work. And good riddance, thought Mrs. Brill to herself. At least with Bert on the job things got done properly and you never had to worry about him sneaking off to take a nap. 

“I’m sure,” said Bert. “It was like he was telling me the whole story, but I couldn’t understand a word of it.”

Mrs. Brill poured herself a cup of tea and joined Bert at the table. 

“Has he said anything since?” she asked

“Not a word,” replied Bert. “I could see he was gettin’ upset cause I didn’t know what he was saying and he sort of stopped tryin’. But it’s no wonder he don’t speak. It must be terrifyin’ livin’ in a world where you don’t understand what people are sayin’ and you can’t make anyone understand you.”

“Do you have the book with you?” asked Mrs. Brill.

Bert shook his head, “No, I left it back at the boarding house. It was Peter Rabbit.”

“Wait just a minute,” said Mrs. Brill. She rose and left the kitchen and returned a few minutes later with a framed print from the wall of the nursery. The picture showed Peter Rabbit dressed in his blue coat eating carrots in Mr. McGregor’s garden. She sat down next to Jack and pointed to the rabbit. Jack looked at her and hesitantly said in English, “Ra-bit.” Mrs. Brill pointed to Bert, herself and Jack and said each of their names slowly—Bert, Clara, Jack--and then once more pointed to the rabbit. Jack looked uncertain but said “Pedro.”

Mrs. Brill moved her hand in a circular motion over the picture and looked at Jack questioningly, “Senor McGregor?”

“Si,” said Jack and launched into a stream of words. For a moment he looked hopeful but the words trailed off when he realized that Mrs. Brill didn’t understand him any more than Bert had the night before. She reached over and stroked his hair, smiling at him and hoping to reassure him. 

“Did you get anything out of that?” asked Bert.

“I can’t be sure, but I think he’s speaking Spanish,” responded Mrs. Brill.

“Spanish! But how?” asked Bert.

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure it’s Spanish. I only know a few words and my accent's rubbish. But I know someone who can help.” She looked over at Bert, “The trouble is she can’t come to us. We’ll have to go to her. I need some time to make arrangements. Do you think you would have enough money for train fare for you and Jack? It shouldn’t be too dear and we’ll only be gone for a day. I’ll pack a lunch for all three of us.”

When Bert nodded, she said, “All right, I’ll get started this afternoon. In the meantime maybe we should try and teach this young man some English.”

She pointed to the picture again and looked at Jack. “Carrot,” she said slowly. She moved her hand again. “Bird.” Jack bit his lower lip and looked at her. He looked worried and even frightened. Bert wished he knew why. Slowly Jack repeated, “Ca-rot.”

“Good,” said Mrs. Brill and smiled at him. Jack seemed to relax a little. “Bird,” he said.

A week later Bert and Jack, dressed in their best clothes, met Mrs. Brill at the train station. Bert was having a difficult time with Jack who had panicked as soon as he realized they were getting on the train. He had bolted and tried to run away and Bert had been lucky to catch him. Jack had fought desperately to get away and they undoubtedly would have attracted a great deal of attention except that Jack made no noise. Bert had taken off his coat and wrapped it tightly around the struggling child and carried him bodily onto the train. Now Jack was curled up in a tight ball in the corner of the window seat. He clutched Teddy tightly to his chest and refused to make eye contact with Bert or Mrs. Brill.

“What do you think caused that?” wondered Mrs. Brill

“I don’t know,” said Bert, “normally he’s as good as gold. I sure hope your cousin can help.”

Mrs. Brill nodded. “I think so. She’s very intrigued and is looking forward to meeting Jack. She said she’ll meet us in the garden. She thought it would be less formal than meeting in one of the visiting rooms.”

“I didn’t know you could go into a convent,” said Bert.

“Some of them you can. She’s not a monastic nun. She’s been doing mission work and teaching in schools for most of her life. Right now she’s on what she calls a spiritual retreat. She’s staying in the convent until she knows where she should go next. The important thing is that she’s fluent in Spanish. She can also speak some Italian and French. Between the three languages she should have some way to communicate with Jack.”

Jack remained curled in the seat for the entire trip. Mrs. Brill tried to coax him to sit up with some biscuits she had packed, but he refused to look at her and drew back when Bert tried to touch him. When they reached their station Jack refused to move. Bert had to pick him up and carry him off the train. Jack didn’t struggle anymore, but he was dead weight in Bert’s arms. Bert was astonished at how much heavier Jack was than the first night he had carried him to the doctors’ office. Their diet was adequate but not by much. It reinforced the knowledge that Jack had been dangerously undernourished when Bert had rescued him. Fortunately, it was only a short streetcar ride to their destination. Mrs. Brill’s cousin was waiting for them in the garden of the convent.

Sister Monica was a small, middle aged lady. She wore pair of silver pince-nez that perched on the end of her nose. Her smile was warm and friendly. She greeted her cousin and then turned to Bert and Jack. Jack’s face was buried in Bert’s shoulder and he refused to turn around.

“What’s wrong?” She asked Bert. 

“I don’t know,” said Bert. “He’s been like this since we got on the train.”

“Come; sit down here next to me.” Sister Monica sat on the bench and patted the spot next to her. “Let’s see if I can get him to talk.”

Bert seated himself on the bench with Jack on his lap. Jack’s face was still buried in his shoulder. Sister Monica reached over, gently touched Jack’s arm and began to speak softly in Spanish. Bert felt Jack stiffen with surprise and than watched as Jack lifted his head to look at Sister Monica. Jack’s eyes filled with tears. A torrent of words poured out of him and his body was shaking. Sister Monica looked at Bert, “Keep holding him. He’s very scared. He’s afraid you’re going to take him back to the bad place. He says he’ll be good and do whatever you want him to. He’s sorry he made you angry.”

“Angry?” Bert was surprised. “I’m not angry, why does he think that?”

Sister Monica translated Bert’s question and then listened as Jack replied. 

“Because you took him on the train,” she said back to Bert. “Someone took him on a train to a very bad place and he thought you were taking him back.” Jack said something else and Sister Monica listened, her eyebrows knit together in puzzlement. “He says he’s sorry he talked, he’ll be quiet and not make any more noise.”

“But I want him to talk!” protested Bert.

“I know, I think there’s some confusion going on here. Let me try to explain that you’re not taking him to this bad place and see if we can get him a little calmer. Then maybe we can find out why he’s afraid to talk.” Sister Monica began to speak to Jack. Bert could feel Jack’s body gradually relaxing as she spoke. When she was finished Jack looked up at Bert searching his face for some sort of reassurance. Bert took out his handkerchief and wiped Jack’s eyes and helped him blow his nose. He ran his fingers through Jack’s hair and smiled at him. He cuddled Jack closer and helped him sit so he could lean on Bert’s shoulder and still see Sister Monica.

“Bert would like you to talk. That’s why he brought you here today,” said Sister Monica in Spanish. “He wants to find out who you are and if you have a home or a mama and papa. Can you answer some questions?” As she and Jack began a back and forth conversation, she produced a small notebook and pencil and began taking notes. Occasionally she paused so she could translate for Bert.

“His name isn’t Jack, I’ve written his name down and I’ll go over it with you when we’re done. He was five on his birthday. He had five candles on the tree he shared with Baby Jesus. He used to live with his papa in a big house with a garden. The house belonged to Senora Amelia. She’s very old and his papa took care of the house and garden for her. Sometimes he drove her in the car.

One day Senora Amelia came to his room and cried. She told him his papa had gone to live with his mama in heaven. She told him not to be afraid because she had promised his papa she would always take care of him. He was very sad and he missed his papa but Senora Amelia was nice to him and he liked her.

Then a stranger came and took him away. He didn’t know why and he couldn’t understand any words the man said. There were lots of people talking and he couldn’t make them understand what he was saying and he cried and was afraid. The man took him on a train to the bad place. He tried and tried to run away, but bad people tied him to a bed and when he wet the bed because he couldn’t get up they hit him. And he bit one of them and they put him in a room all by himself.

The room was small and smelled bad. It was dark and he couldn’t see. He cried and called for help and pounded on the door but nobody came. 

Bert couldn’t understand what Jack was saying but he could feel the tension in his body as he talked. When Sister Monica paused in her translation, Bert suggested she ask Jack how he had left the bad place and not dwell on what had happened there. 

Jack shuddered when she asked and started to cry. El Cuco had come at nighttime. He had tied him up and put him in a sack just like the stories said. He had taken Jack away and given him to the man who looked like a pig. Jack had to stay with the pigman and be his slave. The pigman had a belt and he hit Jack with it when he made noise. It made him angry when Jack tried to talk and Jack had to be quiet and do exactly what the pigman wanted. He didn’t know what the pigman was saying and the pigman twisted his arm and slapped him. By now Jack was sobbing so hard that Sister Monica could barely understand him. He must have been very, very bad, he explained, for El Cuco to take him away, and he was trying to be very good now so he could stay with Bert. Perplexed by what Jack was saying, Sister Monica did her best to translate.

“Who is this el..whatever,” asked Bert?

“He’s like the bogeyman,” explained Sister Monica. “If a child is being disobedient or not going to sleep a parent might say ‘behave or El Cuco will take you away.’ Most of the time it’s harmless, but sometimes an adult or older sibling can make the stories too scary or a more imaginative child will be frightened. Then there can be nightmares. But this sounds too real to be a nightmare.”

With a flash of intuition Bert realized what had happened. Constable Jones had been right. The sweep had simply bribed one of the staff to give him a child. Tied and gagged and stuffed in a sack Jack had been smuggled out of the orphanage or asylum where he was being kept. To the small child, already confused and frightened, it had been a nightmare come to life. He was too little to know the bogeyman didn't exist and could only explain what happened in terms of the stories he had heard.

Bert could only imagine how terrified Jack had been. Alone with the sweep, who starved him and beat him when he made any noise, Jack had learned to keep completely quiet. Added to this was the belief that he had done something bad and deserved what was happening to him. When the sweep had eventually taken him outside Jack hadn’t dared to speak, especially when he realized he didn’t understand what anyone was saying. And Jack was right about one thing, thought Bert. The sweep was more pig than human. He was sorry now that he had only slugged him that day at Admiral Boom’s House.

Bert did his best to comfort the sobbing child on his lap while he explained what he believed had happened. It took the adults a long time to get Jack to stop crying, and Sister Monica had to repeat over and over again that Jack was safe and he hadn’t done anything bad. When Jack could finally stop crying everyone was exhausted. Sister Monica suggested they pause and rest a bit. Mrs. Brill got out the lunch she had packed and spread a cloth on the ground so they could have a picnic. Sister Monica went away for a little bit and came back with a pitcher of lemonade and four glasses. 

As soon as Jack finished eating Bert took off his coat and put it on the ground so Jack could lie down. Within minutes Jack had drifted off to sleep with his arms around Teddy and Bert’s hand resting comfortingly on his back. While he slept the adults talked about what they had learned and what it might mean. Jack remembered celebrating his birthday at Christmas, but the rumors about the sweep had started in December. It was more likely he had missed a birthday and was remembering the one from the year before. That would make him six years old. Even the Christmas birthday was uncertain. “Do you remember,” said Mrs. Brill to her cousin, “that when we were growing up our parents didn’t have enough money to give us birthday gifts.” Sister Monica nodded. “They waited until Christmas and gave us one gift for the whole year,” she said.

Bert had hoped for answers but so far the answers were leading to more questions. Jack had been taken to an orphanage or an asylum but they didn’t know why. He had no clear idea of where the bad place was, let alone how long he had spent there. It could have been a few weeks or a few months. It seemed that both his parents were dead, but who was Senora Amelia? Had something happened to her too? Where was her house? Was it even in England? Where had Jack been born? If he lived in England why didn’t anyone around him speak English? 

They did have Jack’s actual name and if they could narrow down his birth year and where he was born maybe they could find relatives. When Jack woke up they would avoid talking about recent events and ask him about pleasant memories. Maybe there would be more clues.


	5. Chapter 5

Jack stirred and made a small whimpering noise. Bert returned his hand to Jack’s back and rubbed it gently. Jack settled back into his nap. “Poor little tyke,” murmured Mrs. Brill. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t have nightmares.”

“He does,” said Bert. “Thrashes around and cries in his sleep. Now I know why.” 

“What do you do when he does,” asked Sister Monica?

“Oh I rub his back, sometimes I sing. Usually he drifts off again. I think havin’ his teddy bear helps.” Bert thought about the small room he shared with Jack in the boarding house. There was barely enough room for the chair and single bed, but it was one of the few places he could afford that would let him have a child. The landlady had let Bert build a small trundle bed that slid under his during the day. At night he pulled it out for Jack and it was easy for him to reach down and rub the child’s back if he had a bad dream. Bert hadn’t thought about their small quarters being an advantage but maybe it was.

“How’m I ever gonna explain that the bogeyman isn’t real after this,” wondered Bert.

“You can’t explain anything until he learns English” said Mrs. Brill briskly. “Right now that’s the most important thing for you to do. When he’s a little older and can understand then you can explain.”

“She’s right,” said Sister Monica. “It’s dangerous for him not to know English. He needs to be able to tell people his name and how to find home if you get separated. Make him memorize your address even if he doesn’t understand it yet. I saw that note you pinned to his coat about not hugging him. You need to write your name and address on it too.”

“Never thought of m’self as much of a teacher,” said Bert.

“Don’t worry,” Sister Monica reassured him. “Little children pick up languages much easier than we big people do. Jack probably knows more English words than either of you realize and now that he has permission to talk he’ll start using them. Keep doing what you’re doing now, talk and sing to him, play games and read. Peter Rabbit is a good place to start since he knows the story already and it has pictures. There are many words he can learn just by pointing and saying them over and over.”

“Wonder if he’ll have an accent,” said Bert.

“Oh he’ll have an accent all right,” said Sister Monica with a smile, “but it won’t be Spanish.” For the first time in the long day all three adults laughed.

Jack was having a pleasant dream for a change. He was in the warm rabbit burrow under the fir tree having tea with Peter and his family. Mother Rabbit reminded him of Mrs. Brill and she was feeding him gingerbread. Jack was explaining that Sra. Amelia had many flowers in her garden and she liked animals. He and his papa put food out everyday for the birds and rabbits, and if Peter wanted to come and play he would be very welcome. It would be fun to have a friend his own age to play with.

It was nice and warm and gradually Jack realized he wasn’t in the sandy burrow but laying on Bert’s coat in the sunshine. He yawned and stretched and looked around to make sure Bert was close. Bert was right beside him so he was safe. Sister Monica asked if he had slept well and if he felt like talking some more. It was funny about his dream because she wanted to know all about Peter Rabbit.

Jack explained that Senora Amelia gave him Peter Rabbit for his birthday and his papa read him the story at bedtime. There was another book too about Peter and his cousin Benjamin. After his papa went away Senora Amelia read to him at night. Senora Amelia was nice but she was very old. She couldn’t run with him in the garden or wrestle with him like papa did. Papa said Jack had to be very gentle and not climb on her or bump her because she might fall down and get broken. But she did fun things. She showed him how to play a song on the piano. She could cut things out of paper, and once she cut a picture out of black paper that looked like his shadow. She put it in a frame and Papa hung it up over his desk. Papa’s desk was in a room by the kitchen and Jack had to be respectful and not touch anything on the desk.

Jack didn’t know where his house was and he didn’t understand what Sister Monica meant by an address. He wasn’t sure he knew what a telephone was either. 

Finally Sister Monica asked him if he knew where he was born and he knew the answer because of the bells. The bells were very important; Papa and Senora Amelia said so. Jack was born in a place called London and there were big bells ringing and Papa heard the bells and Jack crying at the same time. There were always bells ringing on his birthday, but Papa said they were little bells. When he got big, Papa was going to take him to London to hear the big bells. Jack’s face clouded over. Papa was gone and couldn’t take him now.

Startled, Bert realized that Jack didn’t know he was living in London. How could he when he couldn’t understand what anyone said? Worried about keeping an eye on Jack, Bert had avoided taking him to the busy sections of the city. They kept more to the small neighborhoods and parks where he found work. As soon as he was able Bert would take Jack to see some of the big churches in London. They would stand outside and listen to the bells of St. Paul’s and St. Mary-le-bow. He’d do it for Jack and for his papa, who sounded like he’d been a real nice fellow.

It was getting late and they had to catch the train, but there were things that Bert had to know. Was Jack afraid of him? Jack didn’t want to say and had to be reassured that Bert wouldn’t be angry. Bert was nice to him and sang songs, and Jack wanted to stay with him. But Jack had been very good and very quiet. He didn’t want to take a chance that Bert might get angry and hit him or give him back to the pigman. Bert wasn’t really surprised by the answer but he was rather surprised about how bad he felt about it. He asked Sister Monica to tell Jack that he would keep him safe and never, ever give him back to the pigman. Most importantly, Bert promised never to hit him. Jack must have understood because Bert could almost see the worry disappear from his eyes and a certain tension leave his body.

Was there anything that Jack would like Bert to do for him? Yes there was, and even though he didn’t understand a word of what Jack was saying Bert knew from the tone of his voice that he was very serious. Jack wanted Bert to call him by his real name. He didn’t like the name Bert called him. It was a word he couldn’t pronounce and he didn’t know for a long time that it was supposed to be his name. This put Bert into a quandary. He had long suspected that Jack had a different name, and he certainly understood why Jack wanted to be called by his real name. Bert had gone over the name with Sister Monica, practicing what seemed to him the strange syllables and puzzling over the fact that Jack had two surnames. He thought he could make a fair stab at pronouncing it but knew it was going to be pretty hard for other folks to get it right. Bert liked the name Jack for deep personal reasons and now he realized that he wanted to keep using it for the little boy in front of him.

Bert asked Sister Monica to translate and looked into Jack’s eyes while he spoke so Jack would know how important this was to him. Jack, he said, was a fine name and he called him Jack ‘cause he thought he was real special. He used to have a brother named Jack and he’d been just about the most wonderful person in the whole world. He understood that Jack wanted to be called by his birth name but he’d be real honored and happy if Jack would use his brother’s name as his English name.

Jack sat and thought for a long time. Could a person have two names he asked Sister Monica. Yes, she explained. Many people had a name their parents gave them when they were babies and a different name they used for everyday. Jack would just be the name he used everyday. He would always have his Spanish name. All right, he told her. As long as he could keep his real name Bert could call him that other name he couldn’t say. Sister Monica smiled and said not to worry. He was making Bert happy and the more English he learned the easier it would be to pronounce the troublesome J sound that was tripping him up.

Regretfully Bert said goodbye to Sister Monica. He had learned much about Jack but he felt that there was so much more he needed to know. Mrs. Brill gave her cousin a hug and thanked her for all her help. Jack let Sister Monica give him a hug too. This was quite an honor because Jack didn’t let anyone other than Bert hug him. He was a little nervous getting on the streetcar and he held tightly to Bert’s hand when they got to the train station. Bert had promised he wouldn’t take Jack back to the bad place or give him to the pigman, but it was still scary to ride the train and he didn’t enjoy it.

Jack held Teddy close. Before they left the convent Bert put the sling he had made for Teddy back over Jack’s shoulder and around his body. It had got all twisted up when Jack was trying to run away earlier. Jack knew it was important to keep Teddy close. He still had to worry about El Cuco. He didn’t remember who had told him about El Cuco and how he took bad children away in his sack. He knew it wasn’t Papa because Papa had been very angry when Jack told him about his bad dreams. Papa had brought Teddy home to Jack and said Teddy would keep him safe at night. When the stranger came and took Jack away from his house he didn’t have time to get Teddy off the bed. Then El Cuco had come and given him to the pigman. Jack had been very sick, so sick he thought he might die. He thought it might be nice to die and not have to be afraid anymore. But Bert sang to him, and Mr. Binnacle put cool clothes on his head and smoothed out the wrinkles in his pillow. And when Jack woke up Teddy was back again right beside him in the bed. He didn’t know how Teddy found him, but there he was. Teddy’s fur looked a little darker and someone had fixed the hole on his foot where Jack had caught it on the gate in the garden. But Teddy’s smile and eyes were the same and as long as Teddy was close by Jack was safe.

It was getting dark when Bert and Jack left the train station and headed back to the boarding house. Neither noticed the thickset figure watching from the ally. The sweep had laid low for several weeks after Bert had rescued Jack from the chimney. The boy had been sick and wasn’t much use anymore. Scrugg was already planning on how to get rid of him when he got stuck in the chimney. The sweep figured the boy would die, and he didn’t need any trouble. There was still that incident up in Manchester to worry about. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he spotted Bert in the park with the brat. First he figured he’d steal the boy back but he’d had a better idea. It would take some planning but when he was done he’d have revenge on the man who’d hit him and there’d be no one left to talk about it

 

.


	6. Chapter 6

August 11, 1912

 

Dear Clara,

It’s been a week and I’ve had time to think about Jack and the conversation we had. He is such a sweet little boy and surprisingly expressive for his age. I’m sure I did a poor job of translating and capturing how well he speaks. You can tell he has spent a great deal of time with adults. I doubt that there were any other children at his house wherever it was. I confess that I am puzzled by his accent. Spanish is spoken in so many countries and has many dialects like English. I wondered at first if we would be able to understand each other, but Jack speaks with a very correct Castilian accent as if he came directly from Spain. At the same time there are a few indicators in his speech that suggest his family may be from another country, perhaps in the Americas, where the Spanish colonized. I wonder how much influence this Senora Amelia he talked about has had on his language skills.

I have done some research and I cannot find that Peter Rabbit has ever been translated into Spanish. It’s a very popular book for children, but still relatively new. Someday it may be translated into other languages but right now it appears to only be in English. If Jack’s father was reading it to him that can only mean that he was bilingual and literate in both languages. That he had a desk in a room by the kitchen makes it seem he was more than just the gardener or chauffer and that he played a major part in running the household. I wish he had taught his son to speak a little English, but maybe he didn’t plan on staying in England.

It’s a shame that Jack will lose most of his Spanish. Being six he may retain some but without other Spanish speakers to converse with most of it will probably vanish within a few years. When I think of how many years I had to study as an adult just to have a simple conversation it seems a waste to lose a skill that is perfectly natural to him.

I know you and Bert were both puzzled by Jack’s surnames. Spanish naming conventions are a little different. He has two last names. The first one is his father’s and the second one is his mother’s. I know it sounds complicated but what it really means is if you are going to look for a birth registration or baptismal record you need to look under BOTH names. There’s no telling how a clerk or a priest would interpret a foreign name or what order they’d put it in. The spelling could be off too. London is so big it’s hard to think where to start looking. Since the bells seem to be so important maybe you should start in the neighborhoods around some of the bigger churches or even Big Ben. It can’t hurt.

Bert is very attentive and gentle with Jack, more so than most actual fathers. I hope he doesn’t get into any trouble for keeping Jack and not turning him over to the authorities. I made an assumption and maybe you can help. I suggested that he read to Jack and something in the way he reacted made me think that might be a problem. It’s so important that someone read to Jack and it doesn’t necessarily have to be Bert. I know you can handle it tactfully even if it’s not the way you normally do things. (I’m smiling when I write that).

I hope to hear from you soon. Please let me know if you find out anything more and I will help any way that I can.

Your affectionate cousin,

Monica

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Reading was indeed a problem for Bert. He could read some and it wasn’t like he didn’t want to, but it had always been hard. The letters seemed to move on the page and he had trouble keeping everything straight. He had a real difficult time if the print on the page changed. He couldn’t always recognize the big, curly letters that were often at the beginning of chapters as the same small square letters that occurred later in the page. They might as well be Chinese for all he could see them as an A or a B. Bert was smart. Usually he only had to hear something once to remember it, and most jobs he could figure out how to do just by studying it out and thinking about it. He could draw just about anything, but signing his name and keeping the letters in order could be difficult. He’d been stood in a lot of corners and got his knuckles rapped with a ruler plenty of times just because his teachers thought he was lazy or joking around. His father had been pretty angry with him too. Only his brother had been patient enough to help him. He probably wouldn’t have been able to read at all if Jack hadn’t been willing to study with him. Jack always took his responsibilities as a big brother seriously and Bert had always been able to count on him. He was serious when he said his brother was about the most wonderful person in the world.

But that was the past and now he was the one helping another Jack. Somehow Mrs. Brill guessed his difficulty and gave him some advice. Jack was just learning to speak English, so a book with fewer words on a page and read slowly was just what he needed. Bert could always make the book more interesting by changing his voice or making sounds when the story called for it. Bert looked over the three books that had come in the box and found one he thought would work. He set Peter Rabbit and The Tale of Benjamin Bunny aside until he had time to read his way through them and maybe practice a little. Holding the little book he had chosen Bert looked over at Jack who was seated on the floor. 

Bert had found some clean newspapers and provided Jack with his older bits of chalk so he could draw pictures. Jack was intently working on coloring in the sky of his drawing and Bert was bemused at the humming sound coming out of him. The hum had started a couple of days after they returned from their trip. It had been so quiet and timid at first that Bert thought he was imagining things. But as the days progressed and Jack felt more at ease the humming had gotten louder. It seemed to be something that Jack did unconsciously when he was happily concentrating on something else. Bert recognized bits of melodies and songs he had sung to Jack as well as tunes that Jack must have picked up earlier. Jack hadn’t progressed to singing yet, but Bert thought it was a good sign that he was feeling safer

Jack looked up from his art work and saw the book in Bert’s hand. The chair was too small and the back too stiff to comfortably accommodate Bert, Jack, Teddy and a book so Bert sat on the edge of the bed and patted the spot beside him. Jack happily joined him and leaned against Bert’s side so he could see the pictures. Bert cleared his throat and began. “This,” he read slowly, “is a fierce bad rabbit.”*

The story was short and sort of cute. The bad rabbit had stolen a nice rabbit’s carrot. A few pages later a hunter had spotted the bad rabbit sitting on a bench with the carrot and thought he was a bird. He had fired his gun, but fortunately the bad rabbit hadn’t been killed—he just lost his tail and whiskers. Jack listened attentively and paid close attention when Bert pointed to the pictures and gave him the English words for all the different things the artist had drawn. All in all it had been a successful experiment and Bert was relieved.

Bert continued to read the same story to Jack every night pointing to the pictures and saying the English words until Jack could repeat them back. Then after a week something changed. Bert pointed to the picture of the rabbit and said “rabbit.” Jack gave Bert a calculating look and said, “No.” Jack pointed to the rabbit and slowly said, “Conejo.”

“Rabbit,” said Bert.

“Conejo,” said Jack.

“Rabbit,” Bert said again.

“Co ne jo,” said Jack emphasizing all the syllables.

Bert pointed to the rabbit’s whiskers and said “Whiskers.”

“Bigotes.” said Jack. He looked up at Bert and grinned. The kind of grin that a six year old makes when he believes he has pulled off a really good joke.

“You stinker,” said Bert. ‘You’re tryin’ to teach me Spanish!”

Jack giggled—a real, honest to goodness, six year old giggle.

Without thinking Bert reached over and tickled him. Jack screeched with laughter and rolled around on the bed trying to get away from Bert’s fingers. Bert laughed with him. They laughed until the occupant in the room next door pounded on the wall to tell them to be quiet. 

After that night Bert started reading Peter Rabbit. There were more words on the page, but almost by accident Bert discovered that if he put his hand under the sentences the words didn’t jump around so much. He started holding a piece of paper under each line of the book as he read and found that even though it was slow going it was better. They still played the game of Bert giving Jack the English word and Jack replying with the Spanish one, and Bert was actually picking up quite a vocabulary. There wasn’t a prayer he’d ever be able to read or write in Spanish but it was rather fun. 

Jack’s education got some assistance from an unexpected source. So far, Bert hadn’t had to ask for financial help from Admiral Boom, but now he offered to watch Jack when Bert had jobs where he couldn’t take a child. Mr. Binnacle would do most of the actual watching but the Admiral would be there to supervise. Jack remembered staying in Number 16 when he was ill and it was the one place he felt safe enough to let Bert leave him. Bert was relieved. He made more money chimney sweeping than anything else, but given Jack’s history he didn’t want to take him on any of that kind of work. Mr. Binnacle enjoyed reading; he got more use out of the library than Admiral Boom did. He liked nothing better than getting books out for Jack to look at and pointing to the pictures and saying the words in English. 

Admiral Boom supervised this activity and approved of Binnacle’s methods. On days that Jack came to their house the Admiral missed his daily game of dominos until he had the happy idea to teach Jack to count with the little dots on the tiles. Pretty soon Jack was counting up to twelve in English and then the Admiral got a deck of playing cards and showed him how to recognize the numbers on the corners. Mr. Binnacle and the Admiral also improved Jack’s language skills in other ways that Bert wasn’t as grateful about. At home between themselves they spoke "jackspeak", the language of the Royal Navy. English sailors are called Jack Tars* and they have their own way of talking that is as mysterious to outsiders as any foreign language. Between the slang and the colorful adjectives Jack had picked up, Bert was relieved that he was still too shy to talk to anyone.

You couldn’t call it talking yet. Jack knew quite a few words and could make himself understood with hand gestures and facial expressions, but he still wasn’t speaking in actual sentences. Bert thought he would pick up the language even faster if he could play with some other children. Bert often thought about Jane and Michael Banks up in their nursery. He encouraged Jack to wave to them when they passed the house and Jane and Michael always waved back. But Jack was just enough younger and still needed his teddy. Michael played with kites and trains and didn’t like what he called baby toys anymore. Jane was three years older than Jack and seemed to take an almost maternal interest in him. It was obvious to Bert that at nine years old she thought Jack was still an infant, and since he was younger than her brother she wasn’t really interested in playing with him like a friend. Besides it wouldn’t really work. The Banks were quality and Bert was working class. Bert felt comfortable around Mr. and Mrs. Banks when they were outside or in the park, but he didn’t want to go much further into the house than the back door and the kitchen.

It was different with Admiral Boom and by now Bert considered both the Admiral and Mr. Binnacle friends. Bert had been in almost every room of Number 16, but he still went in by the back door. Most people when they saw Bert at the house assumed he was there to work. They had no idea about the informal conspiracy that had been formed to take care of Jack. Constable Jones dropped by and wrote down all the information Bert had learned from their trip. The policeman also went next door to speak to Mrs. Brill and she shared her letter from her cousin with him. He had started to make some inquiries but had to do it after his normal shifts were done. He expected it to take a long time and Bert found that he was rather relieved at the delay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Bert is reading The Story of a Fierce Bad Rabbit by Beatrix Potter published in 1906.
> 
> *It's something of a mystery where Jack got his name. Bert realizes that the little boy doesn't respond to it and suspects it's not his real name. I don't believe the sweep referred to Jack by name. Being in the Admiral's house and Jack being a generic name for a sailor the sweep yelled it up the chimney like one of us would yell "Hey you." Which is all pretty sad and dehumanizing, except that Bert really does have a strong attachment to the name. Since it's not a name that Jack associates with the sweep, he'll accept it as Bert's name for him.


	7. The Man in the Park

Finding consistent work was always a challenge for Bert and one sunny day in September he found himself at loose ends. It had been a while since he had taken Jack to the park and today he thought he might try his hand as a screever. Jack had watched fascinated as Bert outlined the rectangles and filled them in with pictures of circuses, fairs and country sides using just bits of chalk. Best of all he had let Jack color the blue sky in one of the frames. Jack had worked carefully and slowly so as not to spoil Bert’s picture and felt a great deal of pride when Bert praised him. Jack’s concentration had attracted a certain amount of attention and Bert found extra coins dropped in his hat. Bert had to admit that having Jack with him sometimes added to his income by prompting people to give, but it caused him a great deal of discomfort as if he was using Jack to get money.

Jack was speaking more, but was still mostly silent when anyone other than Bert was around. Once he had finished with the sky Jack took Teddy and sat quietly by the park gate with his legs crossed and watched. Normally it never occurred to him to leave Bert’s side but the day was warm and enough food and sleep were restoring his usual liveliness. He felt twitchy and the playful breeze was inviting him to move with it. He was suddenly overcome with the desire to see if his legs remembered how to run. He glanced over at Bert and saw he was talking to Mr. Banks of Number 17. Mr. Banks had Michael with him and Michael was on his knees looking at Bert’s pictures. Jack didn’t want to talk to Bert in front of people he didn’t know well. He looked down the path, considered how far he could run and still keep Bert in sight and put his plan in action.

It felt good to run with the breeze. Jack made it almost to the fountain before he stopped and turned. He could still see Bert at the entrance. There was a stick lying on the path and Jack picked it up and settled Teddy under his left arm. It occurred to him that he could walk around the edge of the fountain and drag the stick in the water and still see Bert. Jack climbed up on the fountain and found he could balance pretty well on the wide edge. He made it three times around before he tired of the game and jumped down. He was standing on the path trying to decide if he should run back to Bert when he heard the bells. They were faint and not like church bells or chimes on a clock. They made Jack think of the round bells his papa had put on his shoelaces when he was little. Jack had liked the bells and used to jump in different rhythms to make music.

Jack didn’t want to lose sight of Bert, but the bells made him curious. He stepped off the path into the grass to see if he could find where they were coming from. Suddenly an angry man started yelling at him and waving his arms. Jack didn’t understand what the man was saying. He wanted to run back to Bert, but the angry man was between him and the gate. The angry man was coming toward him and Jack was frightened. He started to back away and before he knew it he was running as fast as he could,

Bert was still talking to Mr. Banks when he heard the park keeper yelling at someone to keep off the grass. He looked up just in time to see Jack run away towards the center of the park. Jack! He called but it was too late. “Go.” said Mr. Banks. “I’ll keep an eye on your things until you get back.”

Jack ran and ran. Finally he stopped to catch his breath. He didn’t see the angry man, but he couldn’t see either Bert or the gate. As he stood there wondering what to do next, he heard the bells again. This time he followed the sound towards a statue. Sitting on the ground with his back against the pedestal and his legs stretched out in front of him was a tall man. An old felt hat was over his face and he appeared to be sleeping. Jack couldn’t see any sign of bells but he was sure the sound had come from the slumbering man. He stood there watching the man for several minutes not sure what to do next when suddenly someone grabbed him from behind.

“Jack!” cried Bert. He turned Jack around so he could see his face. “Why did you run off like that?”

Jack looked up at Bert and all the words tangled up in his head into a big knot. He didn’t know how to explain that his legs wanted to run, or that he meant to keep Bert in sight, or about the angry man. Only one word seemed to disentangle itself from the confusion inside him. “Bells,” he said.

“Bells! Wha..?” Bert paused in mid word when he caught sight of the man on the grass.

“Robertson Ay!” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? I thought you had moved on.” Bert did not sound pleased and if truth be told he wasn’t. Mary Poppins never explained anything, but that hadn’t stopped Bert from having questions. Robertson Ay was number one on his list.

The man on the ground stretched and pushed his hat up on his head. He had a young face, but Jack was sure he was very old. “G’day, Bert,” he said in a lazy voice. “How’ve ya been?”

“Not any better for you asking,” snapped Bert. “Is this your doing?”

The man seemed amused, “Now Bert” he drawled, “what’cha blamin’ me for this time?”

“For putting ideas into Jack’s head to run off,” said Bert. “He says he heard bells.”

“Did he now?” The man named Robertson Ay looked at Jack with interest and his voice didn’t sound quite as lazy. “I don’t think I’m capable of puttin’ ideas in people’s heads, and as you can see I don’ have any bells. Howsoever,” he leaned forward and reached behind Jack’s head, “Maybe young Jack is hearing bells cause he has one in his ear.” He brought his hand around and opened it to reveal a round silver bell on the palm of his hand.

Jack gasped and his eyes widened. 

“Go on,” said Robertson Ay. “Take it.” 

Jack reached out to take the bell then hesitated. He looked at Bert for permission

Robertson Ay looked at Bert and grinned. “It’s all right, it’s safe.”

“None of your gifts are safe,” said Bert.

“True, but they’re not dangerous, least they shouldn’t be” said Robertson Ay. “They just stir things up a bit. Some might even call them a blessin’. How is the little Banks boy by the way?”

Bert thought a moment, then remembered Michael’s fascination with the chalk drawings on the pavement. “What have you done?”

“What I always do. I left a gift for the family that took me in. I doubt young Mr. Banks will be following in his father’s footsteps at the bank.”

Bert looked furious. “That’s a poor way to repay a family for takin’ you in and givin’ you a job. I believe you did it out of spite.”

“Not spite but certainly fun.” 

“Somethin’ like that could cause a lot of grief,” muttered Bert.

“Could, but I think our mutual friend has taken care of any real problems for that particular family. Not my fault she can’t always fix things for everyone else.”

Robertson Ay looked at Jack. “If Bert says it’s all right I’ll put this bell on your shoe.” Jack looked up at Bert who reluctantly nodded. Bert was convinced that a certain amount of mischief accompanied all of Robertson Ay’s gifts, but he also knew that refusing to accept one could be dangerous. Jack slipped off his left shoe and handed it to Robertson Ay who deftly unlaced it and threaded the bell on the shoe string. He wove the string through the eyelets so the bell was at the bottom towards Jack’s toes. “There,” he said tying the shoe on Jack’s foot. “Give it a try.”

Jack did a few experimental steps and jumps. The bell rang gently with every movement. Jack could feel the smile starting in his toes and working itself all the way up to his face. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“Now Bert can hear when those legs of yours decide to go on a run.” Robertson Ay put his arms behind his head and leaned back against the pedestal with a smile.

Jack looked happily down at his shoe. He started to do a little jig just to see how he could make the bell ring. He remembered one of his favorite songs about bells and started to sing as he danced.

“Oranges and lemons say the bells of St. Clemen’s  
You owe me five farthings say the bells of St Martin’s”

On and on he sang until he got to the last two lines.

“Here comes a candle to light you to bed  
Here comes the chopper to chop off your head”

On the last line he jumped high into the air and came down to land on the grass where he lay on his back laughing and kicking his legs in the air.

Bert looked at him in amazement then looked back to Robertson Ay. Robertson Ay grinned. “Not me,’ he said, ‘that’s all your magic. Good food, plenty of rest, lots of care, he’s bound to get healthy. Glad it’s you takin’ care of him and not me. He’s gonna keep you busy.”

“I like bein’ busy,” said Bert. “It’s more than anyone can say for you.”

“Ah that’s just where you’re wrong! I’m always busy. Doing nothing takes a great deal of time. All the time in fact.”* Robertson Ay pushed his hat back over his face and immediately fell asleep.

Jack happily accompanied Bert back to the park entrance. He skipped and ran ahead and then ran back to Bert. Bert didn’t want to admit it but the bell on Jack’s shoe was a good idea. It was going to be increasingly difficult to keep an eye on Jack now that he was starting to behave like a normal child. Until he had a firmer grasp of English it would be hard to make him understand his boundaries. The bell would at least alert Bert when Jack was on the move. Rather breathlessly they reached the entrance where true to his word Mr. Banks kept watch over Bert’s things. Michael was still on his knees studying the pictures and Mr. Banks had had time to really look at the drawings and was impressed. 

“Do you think you could draw this one for me so I could have it framed?” he asked pointing to one of the rectangles. “It looks just like the Grand Canal in Venice. Mrs. Banks and I spent our honeymoon there. I’d be willing to pay you.”

Bert hesitated. “I’d be glad to,” he said. “But I don’t have the right kind of stuff to do it proper.”

Mr. Banks considered the matter. He hadn’t thought about the cost of art paper. It probably was a luxury Bert couldn’t afford; the same went for decent chalks. “What if I purchase the paper and pastels from the Stationers,” he asked. “You could subtract the cost of the materials from the final price. If you give me your address I can have them sent around to where you live.”

“Why thank you!” said Bert. “That’d be very kind! When do you want the picture?”

The two men chatted back and forth for a bit and shook hands. Mr. Banks promised to have the supplies sent to the boarding house by the end of the week. Bert collected his hat and coins and set out for home holding Jack’s hand firmly in his own.

“Well what do you think about that?” he said wonderingly to Jack. “First time I’ve ever been paid to draw a real picture that’ll be framed and all. Maybe I can add artist to my list of jobs.” Bert jingled the coins in his pockets. “What do you say we celebrate and have fish and chips tonight? Might even be enough left over for an ice cream. 

Jack smiled happily at Bert the bell on his foot gently ringing as he trotted next to him. “Yes, please!” he said.

In the shadows of the park Scrugg stood thinking. The other man knew more people of quality than the sweep had realized. That could be useful. It was a shame he was actually feeding the little bastard and teaching him to speak. Subduing a healthy child was going to be harder, harder but not impossible. From his hiding place the sweep had heard snatches of conversation. Now he had an approximate idea of when Bert would be back in the neighborhood, and he could put his plan into action. A lot of it would depend on luck but Scrugg would be ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Robertson Ay's Story from Mary Poppins Comes Back


	8. Toast and Terror

The tantalizing smell drifting up the back staircase from the kitchen awoke Jack early in the morning. He tried to lie still until Bert woke up but quickly lost the battle. He roused up and kneeling on the trundle bed poked Bert in the arm. “Bert,” he said urgently. “Wake up!”

Wha’ is it? Muttered Bert face half buried in the pillow.

“Toast!” 

“Toast?” asked Bert. Sure enough, he could just catch a faint whiff coming up from the kitchen. “I suppose you want to go down right away and get some,” he said looking at Jack’s eager face. Jack smiled and nodded. “Oh all right,” he said starting to set up. “But wait for me.”

Bert was amused to see how swiftly Jack got dressed. He had already slipped on his shirt and trousers before Bert had gotten out of bed. While Bert slid the trundle back underneath his own bed and started putting on his clothes, Jack worked on his shoes and socks. He was just learning how to tie his shoes and Bert enjoyed the look of fierce concentration on Jack’s face as he worked over the laces. Fortunately, it slowed Jack down enough that Bert could finish his own dressing in peace. Ruefully he realized he wouldn’t be able to shave until after breakfast, but comforted himself with the knowledge that they would be the first ones down and no one but the landlady and her helper would see his whiskers. 

For some unfathomable reason Jack loved toast. They didn’t have it very often. Room and board included breakfast and the evening meal. Mrs. Simpson’s food was good but plain. Usually breakfast consisted of porridge or oatmeal with bacon and eggs on weekends. The evening meal was meat and potatoes. Bread and butter were served at the evening meal but there was seldom any leftover for Mrs. Simpson to toast in the morning. Bert supplemented their limited diet with daily purchases of bread, cheese and available fruit. Since Jack had come he had added a pint of milk that he insisted Jack drink so his bones would be strong. Rarely, he was able to splurge on a treat like they had last week when they had feasted on fish and chips and split an ice cream. 

Mrs. Simpson’s boarding house on Swan Street was a three story residence in a respectable neighborhood similar to Cherry Tree Lane. But the neighborhood had seen harder times and was a little more run down at the heels. Bert’s room was on the third floor at the back of the house at the top of what used to be the servants stairway. The kitchen was at the bottom of the stairway on the first floor. Mrs. Simpson did not let her tenants in the kitchen, so the occupants of the third floor used the back stairway to access the second floor, walked the length of the house to the main stairway and used it to descend to the first floor. It was a route fraught with anxiety for Bert as he tried to keep Jack from running thru the halls and disturbing the other tenants.

The other tenants were older folk. Jack was the only child in the house. Mrs. Simpson had been very clear that they were there on a “we’ll see” basis and would have to leave if she received any complaints about noise or misbehavior. So far things had gone well. The only person who had expressed any disgruntlement was Mr. Wittenbach who lived in the room closest to the street on the second floor. Since he was a notorious curmudgeon who frequently complained about many things, Mrs. Simpson had ignored his remarks for the time being. She was also coming to value the repairs and odd jobs Bert did in the old house.

Jack was down the stairs and halfway thru the second floor hall before Bert caught up with him. “Jack! Shush! No running!” He admonished in a low voice. But it was too late, Mr. Wittenbach’s door had already opened and the older man was glaring at them as they approached the stairway. “What is all this noise?” he demanded angrily, his German accent making him sound harsher. He looked down at the bell on Jack’s shoe with disgust. “It is not bad enough that you let him run all over the place now you have to add a bell to make more racket?”

“I’m very sorry,” said Bert. “We’ll try and keep it down.” But Mr. Wittenbach’s door had already shut. Bert continued more slowly with Jack down the stairs and into the dining room where a toast rack holding six golden slices of toast was sitting on the sideboard. “Only one,” said Bert. “We have to share and you need some oatmeal to go with it.” 

“It’s all right he can have two,” said Mrs. Simpson carrying in the tea to fill the urn on the sideboard. “You have some too Bert. By the time the others come down it will be so cold they won’t want to eat it and I’ll wind up throwing it away. Take the ones in the front, they’re the warmest. Would you like coffee this morning instead of tea?”

Mrs. Simpson liked to begin her day with coffee rather than tea and made a small pot in the morning. It was too expensive to offer to all the residents but she would share with the occasional early riser.

“Yes, thank you,” said Bert settling himself and Jack at the table. Bert made Jack a cup of cambric tea—that is tea that was mostly milk. He gratefully accepted the cup of coffee Mrs. Simpson brought into the dining room and drank it black without cream or sugar. “I was wondering if I could use the dining room table this afternoon,” he asked. The art supplies had arrived a week earlier and Bert needed space to spread them out to work on the picture. Mrs. Simpson was intrigued and gave permission as long as Bert let her look over his shoulder once in a while. “I don’t think I’ve ever had an artist in the house before,” she said. “Probably everybody will stop by to look at least once.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem, I’m used to people watchin’ when I draw on the sidewalk,” said Bert. “That’s half the fun.”

Mr. Banks had sent a dozen sheets of large drawing paper of such good quality that Bert was almost afraid to use it. Regretfully, he had sacrificed one sheet cutting it into smaller pieces so he could practice on it. The joy of working with good materials soon overrode any regrets and he had finished four small drawings and was pleased with the results. He had visited the library and consulted a reference book with pictures of Venice and made some quick sketches on scraps of newsprint. Now he was ready to begin the actual work. He had already decided he would do two pictures. One in the looser style he used on the sidewalks and one with more details. He would let Mr. Banks decide which one he preferred.

Bert stood over the table working while Jack watched from the chair across from him. It was always magical to watch Bert draw and Jack was awestruck by the paper which was so big and white on both sides. He had never seen paper that large that wasn’t covered in print of some kind. Bert had given him a few scraps to draw on and he had his Benjamin Bunny book, but after a while he grew bored with sitting. He got out of his chair and taking Teddy with him walked through the archway into the parlor and seated himself on the bench in front of the piano. Experimentally he pressed the keys listening to the notes they made. Bert looked up from his work and then went back to the picture content that Jack was safe and not into any mischief. Bert worked steadily on, only half paying attention to the piano, until suddenly it registered that Jack wasn’t playing random notes but was picking out melodies from songs he knew.

Bert put down the chalk and walked into the parlor. “Say,” he said, “that’s pretty good.” He stopped short as he realized that they weren’t alone in the room. Mr. Wittenbach sat in one of the chairs watching Jack, his face contorted into an expression that Bert couldn’t read. “Gott im Himmel,” the man whispered and abruptly left. 

The encounter with Mr. Wittenbach had dismayed Bert and he had no desire to continue working on the drawing. He carefully put it away to finish later. He fully expected that Mr. Wittenbach would complain to Mrs. Simpson. The man was a piano tuner by trade and had issued dire warnings when they first moved in about letting Jack touch the piano. If Jack had been pounding on the keys or misusing the instrument, Bert would have put a stop to it immediately. But he hadn’t seen any harm in letting Jack press the keys to see what they sounded like. He was prepared to argue his case should Mrs. Simpson bring the matter up, but she didn’t mention it.

Bert began to suspect that Mrs. Simpson knew nothing about what had happened when he spoke to her the following morning. He explained that it would take him several more days to finish the drawings and that he had to work around his other jobs. She gave him permission to use the dining room between 1:00 and 5:00 and he should let her know in the morning if he would be using the room. Bert decided to press his luck and casually mentioned that Jack was interested in the piano and would it be all right if he tried to play it. Mrs. Simpson said no. The piano was hers and she didn’t want anyone playing on it that didn’t know how. If Jack was taking lessons that would be another matter and then she would be happy to let him practice.

Bert had no choice but to keep Jack away from the piano. At least Mr. Wittenbach hadn’t complained and the man seemed to actually be avoiding them. Bert wondered if it was even possible to get Jack piano lessons. He realized with a start that Jack was six and should be starting school. How was he going to manage that with the extra expense of school supplies and books? All his adult life Bert had moved from job to job and place to place cheerfully doing what he had to in order to make a living. He had never worried much about money, but now he was beginning to see how useful money could be to provide for the people he cared about.

Somehow between his jobs Bert finished the drawings by the agreed upon date. After carefully rolling the drawings with an extra sheet of art paper between them, he and Jack made their way to Cherry Tree Lane in the late afternoon. Jack wanted to stop and play in the park, but Bert didn’t want to risk spoiling the pictures. He promised Jack they would stop on the way home. Mrs. Banks and the children were out for the evening and Mr. Banks took Bert into the study while Jack remained in the kitchen with Mrs. Brill. Mr. Banks was pleased with the drawings, so pleased that he couldn’t decide which one he liked best. In the end he paid for both and Bert, surprised and gratified, left Number 17 with a light heart.

As he and Jack passed the park entrance Jack ran into the park with Bert close behind. It was late and it would soon be dark so they wouldn’t be able to play long. Bert chased Jack in an improvised game of tag and then took him to the swings. Bert tightened up Teddy’s makeshift sling so Jack could use his arms and then pushed Jack on the swing. Bert showed him how to pump his legs and arms so he could swing on his own. It was a new skill and he didn’t go very high but Jack loved the swings. It felt like he was flying and he didn’t want to go home. “Please, a little longer,” he begged Bert. However, Bert was firm and wanted to get home before dark. Jack stopped pumping his legs and as the swing slowed down Bert caught it in the air from behind to stop its motion and help him down. Jack taking advantage of the situation grabbed Bert’s hat, jumped out of the swing and took off running.

“Jack!” called Bert. “Come back here!” But Jack had a head start and was already far ahead of him. Bert ran after the boy and almost caught him, but Jack slipped out of his grasp and ran off again. Now it turned into a one sided game with Jack thinking he was playing and Bert trying to get him to behave. Several times Bert almost caught him, but Jack managed to evade him. Giggling Jack looked around for a place to hide and slipped behind a nearby hedge. Hugging Teddy close and his eyes alight with mischief he watched as Bert called his name and looked around. “Jack!” he called. “This isn’t funny. You need to come out now!” Reluctantly, Jack started to move into the open when he was roughly grabbed from behind and a rag soaked in something sickly and sweet smelling was held over his mouth and nose. He tried to struggle but the rag was pressed more firmly over his nose and everything went black.

It was dark in the sack and Jack was folded in so tightly he couldn’t move. Twice he had almost woken up but someone had put the sack down and covered his nose up with the bad smelling rag. His head ached and he was sick to his stomach. As he started to wake up he instinctively started to move and cry out, but the person carrying the sack only laughed. Really frightened now, he began to struggle in earnest. The sack was dropped on the floor and Jack fell halfway out. His stomach lurched and he vomited on the floor where he was lying. Whoever it was laughed again. 

“Remember me?” asked a familiar voice. The room was dark except for a single oil lamp sitting on a desk in the corner. Someone picked up the lamp and brought it closer to where Jack was lying. Dazed he looked up and saw the face of the sweep looking down at him. With a cry Jack managed to get to his feet looking about for a way to escape. He ran towards the door and desperately tried to open it but it was bolted shut. The sweep didn’t try to stop him. Calmly he put down the lamp, took off his belt and folded it in half. He walked over to where Jack was struggling with the door, grabbed the child’s arm and cruelly twisted it up behind his back. “You can cry all you want now,” said the sweep. “There ain’t no one to hear you.


	9. The Sweep In Charge

“Jack! Come out here right now! This isn’t funny!” From his place in the park Bert looked all around trying to see anywhere that Jack could be hiding.

“Jack!” He called again, but there was no answer. It wasn’t like Jack to be disobedient and Bert fought the rising sense of alarm that was taking hold of him. He stood listening for the sound of the bell on Jack’s shoe that might tell him what direction to look, but he couldn’t hear anything. He began to retrace his steps trying to remember the last direction he had seen Jack running. That was when he saw Teddy laying on the grass beside the hedge. Frightened Bert picked up the bear and saw with horror that Teddy’s body had been slit open and a note stuffed inside. Hands shaking he opened it up and managed to read the simple block letters. “Meet by statue at 6:00 in morning. Come alone or I kill the boy.”

Who? Who would do this? And what did they want? Bert forced himself to breathe and not to panic. He needed to keep his wits about him for both their sakes. It had only been a few minutes. Whoever had taken Jack might still be in the park. Bert started running for the nearest entrance.

“Hey! Off the grass! Stay on the path!” shouted a voice by the gate. Bert saw the park keeper standing at the entrance. ‘Did you see someone leave with a little boy?” he cried.  
“Are you kiddin’ me,” said the park keeper. “This is a park for crying out loud. Everybody leaves here with a kid.”

“This little boy might look like he’s sick or being carried,” Bert tried to explain.

“No nothing like that,” said the park keeper. “Actually there haven’t been any kids through here for the last half hour or so, just some big guy with a sack.”

“What did he look like, the man with the sack?” asked Bert.

“Like I said, a big guy, burly, about 6 foot with salt and pepper hair.”

“Looked kind of like a pig,” whispered Bert, remembering Jack’s name for the sweep.

“Yeah, you might say that. He had that look to him, kinda mean and snarly, like an old boar my gran dad used to have,” said the Park Keeper. “Hey are you all right? You need to sit down or something? You’re white as a sheet.”

The sweep, the sweep that had kidnapped Jack the first time, Bert’s mind was reeling. “Did you see which way he went?” he asked.

“No, I didn’t. Do you need me to call someone?”

“No,” said Bert. “I’ll be all right.” Dazed, Bert left the park and looked both ways down the street. He saw no sign of Jack or a man with a sack. Slowly Bert walked back to the boarding house on Swan Street and considered his options. He sat for a long time on a bench thinking. He could tell Constable Jones but the sweep had lived in London for months evading the police and the other chimney sweeps when he had Jack the first time. He must have hiding places and escape routes throughout the city. What if he managed to get away after finding out Bert had told the police? What would he do to Jack then? The note said to come alone. He needed to find out what the sweep wanted and then he would have a better idea what to do. In his despair and worry Bert lost track of the time and it was after 11 when he let himself into the boarding house, grateful that everyone was in bed and he didn’t have to answer questions. Momentarily he thought he heard a door open on the second floor but they were all closed when he looked back. 

Early in the morning after a sleepless night Bert headed for the park. The sky was cloudy and it looked like it would rain later. He made his way quickly to the statue. Lying by the pedestal was a small, dark object that Bert instantly recognized. He reached down to pick it up—Jack’s hat. Bert looked at it in dismay. Equal parts fear and rage churned in his stomach. A twig cracked behind him and he whirled around to face the sweep.

“What do you want? Where is Jack?” he demanded.

Scrugg folded his arms across his chest and leaned against a nearby tree. “Good question ain’t it. Bet you’d like to know,” he smirked. “What’s it worth to you? He’s not much good to me now is he? Since you been feedin’ him he’s too fat to fit up a chimney. Give him a bad attitude too, had to give him a few reminders about the kind of respect I expect from my apprentice.” The sweep ran his fingers over his belt and smiled.

Bert noticed the scratch marks on the man’s hands and arms. It looked like Jack had put up a fight. Bert knew how unequal the struggle would have been and his fear for Jack increased. His hands curled into fists. Given half a chance he was going to kill the man in front of him. 

Scrugg must have noticed. He laughed. “Oh I wouldn’t try nothing’ if I was you. Not if you want him back in any kind of shape. I’m callin’ the shots and you do what I say. And what I want is 100 pounds.”

Bert gasped, “I don’t have that kind of money!”

“You don’t but those fancy friends of yours do,” said the sweep. 

“And if I can’t get it?”

“Than I go to the p’lice”, said Scrugg. “And I tell them a sad story about a poor little half wit that’s been kidnapped by a wicked chimney sweep. He’s been working him all summer and putting him out to beg for money. Saw you right here in the park. Everybody droppin’ extra money in your hat. You got no right to ‘im. Prob’ly put you in jail jus’ for keeping him.”

“Jack’s not feeble minded. He can talk. He can explain what happened.”

“Ah but that’s the beauty of it ain’t it,” said the grinning sweep. “He don’t have to be alive does he? Just think how angry folk’ll be when they find that poor little tyke’s body all beat and broken up. You can hang for his murder then. That’d be more fun than watchin’ you go to jail wouldn’ it?”

Bert felt sick to his stomach. He could taste the bile in his mouth.

“You got one chance. You come alone and you bring the money tonight to the park. Wrap it up real good and leave it right there by the statue. Then you go back to that room you been rentin’ and wait. When I’m sure no ones around I’ll collect it and maybe I’ll send word and tell you where to find the boy.”

“I need to know Jack is alive.”

“You don’t get to know squat. I’m the one in charge.” Scrugg’s voice was low and menacing. “Now here’s what’s gonna happen. I’m goin to leave and you’re gonna wait ten minutes before you move. If I even think you’re followin’ me I’ll go straight to the p’lice, and while you’re under arrest I’ll take care of the little retard. And you better believe I’ll take my time and enjoy it.” The sweep paused as if thinking about something. “Maybe I’ll start with his toes. Cut ‘em off one by one. That’d scare him pretty good.” He laughed, “Might even die of fright before I’m done with the first foot.” Still laughing the sweep turned and left.

Bert sank unto the grass and leaned against the pedestal, waiting until he heard the church clock ring the quarter hour. In all his life he had never known this mixture of fear and rage and helplessness. He took deep breaths and tried to think. Where was he going to find a hundred pounds? He believed the sweep would kill Jack if he didn’t do exactly what he was told. The hat in his hands felt wrong. The fabric was stiff as if something had been spilled on it. Horrified Bert realized that it was dried blood. His knees were shaking but he forced himself to stand up. The sweep was wrong about his friends. Admiral Boom and the Banks family didn’t have 100 pounds to give away. That was almost a year’s wages. They might have it in their savings or investments but not lying about. There was only one person Bert knew that would have that kind of money. He had never asked him for help before, but he had to try.

***********************

Uncle Albert loved to laugh, but this had not always been true. In his younger days he had been very unhappy indeed. This was because he had too much money. Uncle Albert was very good at making money. He had a talent for investment and knowing which companies were going to be successful. He liked that part, but the more dividends he earned the unhappier he was. Uncle Albert had observed that after a certain point money seldom made people happy and it brought out all the bad parts of their personality. He knew this was true because of his nephew. Uncle Albert had only one younger relative that he could leave his money to and he didn’t like him. Mostly because he knew his nephew was just waiting for him to die and leave him everything. 

Uncle Albert had crafted a plan to thwart his nephew. He would give all his money away to charities and foundations. He would make sure that when he died he didn’t have a penny to his name. Oddly enough as soon as he started giving his money away he started to feel happy. So happy that a little bubble of joy formed inside of him and he laughed. The more he laughed the bigger the bubble got until it lifted him off the floor and he was floating. Uncle Albert realized he loved to laugh. Respectable bankers didn’t float on the ceiling, but Uncle Albert decided he wasn’t going to give up laughing for anything. So he resigned his position on the board of the bank and gave his power of attorney to his brother. He didn’t give his brother his shares in the bank because he didn’t want his nephew to inherit them. That would give his nephew a controlling interest. He would think of something to do with the shares later. 

Uncle Albert moved into a small cozy flat and enjoyed giving his money away and laughing. So many things made him happy: a good joke, a beautiful sunset, good friends, a tasty lunch. But just when he thought his money was all gone a bond would mature or his stocks would be worth more money. The money would start to build up in his accounts and he would be back to being miserable. Today was not a good day. A small railroad in Australia that he had invested in had been brought out by a larger company and his bank account was uncomfortably full. 

Because he was so unhappy he reverted to his old personality and gave Bert a good tongue lashing. How dare Bert take on responsibility for a child when he had no steady job or place to live. How would he feed, clothe and educate a little boy when he could barely keep himself alive. He didn’t have even a little bit of happiness left inside him when he got done, and when he looked over and saw that Bert was quietly crying he felt even worse. Uncle Albert sat down next to Bert on the couch and handed him his handkerchief. “Forgive me,” he said. “I’m an old man and I have too much of my father left in me. Tell me the whole story and how I can help.”

Slowly, Bert told Uncle Albert about the rumors that had spread of a sweep abusing a small child; how he had told everyone he knew to keep an eye out and how he had rescued Jack from the chimney. He explained about how Jack had been sick and unable to speak and the decision to keep him and try to find out who he was. He told about the discovery that Jack couldn’t speak English and how much of the new language Jack had learned and where the search for information about his parents stood. And all the while Bert spoke Uncle Albert listened and thought deeply. When Bert got done Uncle Albert looked at him and sighed. “You named him Jack after your brother?” he asked. “Yes,” said Bert. “I did.”

“Very well, you don’t need to tell me how important he is to you. I will give you the money for the ransom, but Bert you need to be sensible.”

“I’m not telling the police,” said Bert. “He said he’d kill Jack if someone tried to follow him and I believe him.”

“I understand,” said Uncle Albert. “But you mustn’t go alone to the park with all that money. Has it occurred to you that the easiest thing for the sweep to do is to kill you and take the money? That way he won’t have to worry about witnesses or you going to the police afterwards.” Uncle Albert did not want to say out loud the rest of what he was thinking, that killing Jack would also be simpler and that the child might already be dead.

“I’ll be careful,” said Bert. “I can take him in a fight if he tries anything and I’d like nothing better than the chance to try. But I have to do what he says. It’s the only chance I have to get Jack back safe.”

Uncle Albert realized that arguing with Bert would be useless. For all that Bert was speaking calmly, he was plainly exhausted and distraught. Uncle Albert had not served on the board of a bank or numerous committees without learning how to dissemble a bit.  
Bert needed to rest and Uncle Albert needed time to put what he planned into action. Uncle Albert stood up. “I need some time to make arrangements for the money,” he said. “Even I don’t keep that much money in my flat. You should eat something and try to sleep.” When Bert started to protest, he raised a hand to stop him. “Now you can’t do anything until this evening when you take the money to the park. Best to stay put and rest so your wits are sharp if the sweep does try anything.” 

Bert couldn’t argue with that logic though he was sure that he wouldn’t sleep. Uncle Albert than proceeded to dither around the parlor, finding a pillow for Bert to lay his head on and an afghan to keep him warm. He insisted Bert take his shoes off and put on a pair of slippers. Bert stretched out on the couch and pretended to shut his eyes, mostly to stop Uncle Albert from fussing over him, but exhaustion caught up with him and before long he really did fall asleep. Hours later when he awoke, a meal had been set out in the small dining room and he found himself extremely hungry. It only increased his worry about Jack who probably hadn’t eaten since the night before. “You must eat,” Uncle Albert insisted. “You cannot help the child if you are not well yourself.” Reluctantly Bert ate part of the meal in front of him. While he was at the table the messenger arrived from the bank with the money. Bert paid no attention to the rather nondescript man who followed Uncle Albert into the dining room while he looked for a pen to sign the receipt for the money. Uncle Albert found a pen in the buffet and then sat down to count the bills. Satisfied that all was well he signed the receipt and accompanied the messenger to the door.

It seemed to take Uncle Albert a long time to make up the packet of money. He insisted on wrapping it first in paper that he sealed with wax and then in oilskin that he tied with a finicky knot. At last he handed it to Bert with further admonishments to be careful

Bert left Uncle Albert’s house at 5:00 and walked to the park. A soft rain was falling and it was getting foggy. The park was empty. He made his way to the statue and placed the packet where the sweep had told him. From the moment he entered the park Bert felt he was being watched. Resolutely he left the park and headed back to the boarding house. The fog was getting thicker and the man hurrying along the street didn’t see Bert before he walked into him. “So sorry!” said the man. He was dressed in a raincoat with a low brimmed hat that left most of his face in shadow. “I hope you’re all right.”

“I’m fine,” said Bert wishing the man would go away. But the man seemed inclined to stay. “You wouldn’t happen to know the way to Number 10 Swan Street would you?” he asked. “Yes, that’s close to where I live,” said Bert. “Oh good, do you mind if I walk with you?” asked the man. “I don’t know my way around London very well and the fog has me so confused.” Reluctantly, Bert let the man accompany him to Swan Street and then pointed out Number 10 when he got to the boarding house. The man slipped away into the fog and Bert entered Mrs. Simpson’s house and went straight to his room to wait.

It was a long and agonizing night. Bert paced his small room endlessly. Had he done the right thing? What if the sweep took the money and never told him where Jack was? His mind spinning Bert waited until morning. He couldn’t go down to breakfast without Jack and he wondered how the sweep would send word. When the knock on the door came he leaped to open it hoping it was a message. Instead it was Mr. Wittenbach. “Where is he? Where is the child? You didn’t come down to breakfast. What has happened?” demanded the man. “What are talking about?” said Bert. “I saw you,” said Mr. Wittenbach. “You returned alone to the house. I followed you to the park yesterday and saw you talking to a man. What has he done with the boy?”

Just then Mrs. Simpson came hurrying up the stairs. “Oh Bert,” she cried. “There’s a policeman downstairs. He says you have to come with him to the station. What’s happening? Where is Jack?”


	10. Deus Ex Machina

Jack was lying where the sweep had left him. He hurt, everything hurt. Jack had fought Scrugg with everything he had in him, kicking, biting and scratching. He had managed to break free for a second. But it had been a losing fight from the beginning, and when the sweep finally got hold of him, he had slapped Jack hard and given him a bloody nose and a black eye. When he got done with the belt the sweep had tied Jack’s feet and hands and left him trussed up on the floor. Jack’s nose was still bleeding and Scrugg picked up Jack’s hat and used it to staunch the flow and wipe the blood off his face. “There, there,” he said mockingly, “don’t want you chokin’ and dyin’ too soon. Got to wait and see how much your pal Bert’s willin’ to pay to get you back. But don’t you worry none. You and me’s gonna have a real good time when I get back tomorrow. I plan on killin’ you nice and slow so you can enjoy it as much as I do.”

It was the most words the sweep had ever used talking to Jack, and Jack understood enough English to be terrified. Scrugg left Jack on the floor and threw himself down on a camp bed set up against the wall. Soon he was snoring loudly. Sick from the chloroform and the beating, Jack moved in and out of consciousness during the night. He had a vivid memory of seeing the night sky and the stars shining through the broken skylight before he drifted off again. Towards morning he slowly regained enough awareness of his surroundings to watch as the stars faded into a gray dawn that seemed more like twilight. It hurt laying on his back and hands and he shifted so he was on his side and closed his eyes. In a little while he heard the sweep moving about the room. Scrugg walked over to him and flipped him over with his foot, but Jack forced himself to keep his eyes closed hoping that the sweep would leave him alone. Scrugg nudged him several times and got no response. Satisfied that Jack was going nowhere, the sweep grunted and left. With a sinking heart Jack heard him lock the door as he went.

Slowly, because it hurt to move, Jack rolled back on his side and tried to figure out where he was. The sweep had obviously been living here for some time. The whole room stank of the odor Jack associated with the sweep from when he had lived with him before—of stale sweat, dirty clothes, urine and spoiled food. There was the camp bed, covered with grimy blankets and a bare pillow, shoved up against the wall. An old desk next to it held the remains of the sweep’s last meal including apple cores and empty beer bottles. A spindly chair and a chamber pot in the corner rounded out the furnishings in the room. The only natural light came from the broken skylight above, and there was a small fireplace across from the door. Jack could sense that there was a huge, empty building underneath him. He was only a little boy and he was alone and very frightened. 

Six months ago Jack would have curled up and willed himself to die before the sweep came back. But Bert’s care and love had restored most of his old spirit. Jack wanted to live and he knew he had to get away. He was cold and stiff from spending the night tied up on the floor and every movement was misery. Fighting the pain he wriggled his body trying to maneuver his arms around his legs so they were in front rather than behind him. He finally succeeded but the knots in the rope were tight and beyond his ability to untie. The bell on his shoe rang gently with each movement, but Jack was too preoccupied and ill to notice.

Next to him on the floor was a shard of glass from the broken skylight. Thinking he could use it to cut the rope around his wrists or ankles Jack attempted to pick it up, but he miscalculated and cut his hand and fingers. The pain was so sudden and unexpected that combined with his other injuries he started to go into shock. He began to cry. He couldn’t help it, everything hurt so much. His head was spinning and his heart was pounding so hard he could feel it throb all through his body and into the cuts on his hand. He lay on the floor sobbing and trying to breathe while the room swam around him. He felt so cold.

Dimly he heard the faint ringing of bells and became aware that someone was calling his name. “Jack!” the voice was calling. “Jack can you hear me? Jack! Jack! Wake up! Make some noise so I can find you! Jorge! Jorge! Necsita despertar o dormiras para siempre!” Weakly Jack lifted his head and looked around. He didn’t know where the voice was coming from. “Jack,” the voice called again. This time it sounded further away. Fighting the dizzy feeling in his head Jack tried to call out. “Help,” he shouted, but his voice was weak and didn’t sound very loud. “I’m here.” He tried to pound and kick the floor. “I’m here, I’m up here,” he cried. 

A tapping noise coming from the skylight made him look up. There framed in the window was Robertson Ay, the man from the park. Jack blinked and when he looked again Robertson Ay was gone. Jack shut his eyes again and put his head back on the floor. The sound of footsteps on the roof drew his attention to the fireplace. A large, rectangular bag dropped through the chimney and landed in the fireplace with a thump. This was followed by a scuffling noise and the appearance of a long pair of legs clad in black trousers and a pair of bright red and yellow stockings. The legs nudged the bag out of the way. The knees bent and Robertson Ay crawled out of the fireplace into the room.

In a flash he was across the room and by Jack’s side. “Tight fit that chimney,” he said cheerfully. “Wasn’t sure I was gonna make it all the way in, but here I am.” The recalcitrant knots that Jack hadn’t been able to manage seemed to untie of their own accord under Robertson Ay’s fingers. Jack whimpered in pain as the blood started to circulate through his cold hands and feet. The cuts on his hand started throbbing even more. Robertston Ay rubbed Jack’s ankles briskly and gave his feet a little shake. He reached over to the camp bed and grabbed the pillow which he put under Jack’s knees to elevate them. Jack was cold and shivering but when he saw Robertson Ay reach for one of the blankets to put over him he moaned and shook his head. “Guess your right,” said Robertson Ay noticing how dirty and smelly the blanket was. “Got to be something better.” He opened the bag and started rummaging around inside and pulled out a patchwork quilt. He tucked it around Jack who started to feel warmer at once.

Jack’s eyes focused on the bag beside him. “Carpet bag,” said Robertson Ay noticing his gaze, “Made of, not for carrying. Borrowed it from a friend of mine.” He reached into the bag again and pulled out a thermometer that he put under Jack’s tongue. While he waited for the thermometer to read Jack’s temperature he searched the bag again. “You’d think she’d have packed some bandages in here,” he muttered. “Oh well, this’ll do.” Robertson Ay pulled out a clean white apron that he quickly tore in long strips. He lifted the quilt and brought out Jack’s hand. Robertson Ay wrapped the strips of fabric around Jack’s hand so quickly that it seemed like they moved by themselves. Then he tucked the neatly bandaged hand back under the quilt and took the thermometer out of Jack’s mouth. He looked serious. “Not good,” he said holding the thermometer so Jack could see. Jack saw that it had words on it instead of numbers. “It says ‘Extremely Frightened’ and that’s only one degree above ‘Hopeless’. You are definitely going to need a dose of medicine.” Robertson Ay reached into the bag and pulled out a large brown bottle and a spoon. He poured a dollop of thick dark liquid into the spoon and lifted Jack’s head so he could swallow it. The medicine was bitter and the worst thing Jack had ever tasted. He coughed and sputtered and tried to spit it out, but Robertson Ay held his nose and he had to swallow it. “Sorry about that,” he said lowering Jack back down. “I didn’t have time to sugar coat it. You got it full strength. It’s usually a lot better.”

Jack lay on the floor taking deep breaths. He could feel the blood flowing through his body and his heart beating calm and strong not racing like it had been. Color came back into his cheeks and he felt more alert. Robertson Ay looked back at him in satisfaction. “Gonna have to wait a bit for that medicine to work. Then we’ll see about getting’ out of here. Do you want a pillow for under your head?” He reached into the bag again and pulled out a small throw pillow that he slipped under Jack’s head. “Feel better?” Jack nodded. Jack’s eyes widened as Robertson Ay stood up and drew a Windsor backed chair from the bag. “It’s gonna take a while, best if you try and get some sleep. Don’t worry. Nothing will happen to you while I’m here.” Robertson Ay settled himself in the chair to watch. Jack could feel his eyes growing heavy and his body relaxing under the warm quilt. He slept.

Hours later Jack felt himself being gently shaken awake. “Time to get goin’, said Robertson Ay. “Let’s get you up and see if you can walk.” Robertson Ay helped Jack to his feet and held him upright as he tried to walk. It was hard going because he was so stiff and sore but by the fourth time around the room his arms and legs had loosened up enough that he could move on his own.

“How are we going to get out?” he asked.

“Same way I got in, up the chimney of course,” answered Robertson Ay. “What’s the matter, you afraid you’ll get stuck?” Jack nodded. “You won’t get stuck, not with me here,” Robertston Ay reassured him. “I’ll make sure of that. I’ll go first and show you.” He folded up the quilt and slipped it into the carpet bag, followed by the chair and the throw pillow. He kicked the sweep’s pillow that had been holding up Jack’s legs under the bed. He headed over towards the fireplace, bent down and stepped inside. “Now watch,” he directed. He straightened up and with a swoosh disappeared up the chimney. “Slide the bag in now,” directed a voice from up above. Jack slid the carpet bag into the fireplace and watched as it too was sucked up the chimney. “Your turn,” said Robertson Ay’s voice. “Step into the fireplace and stand up straight. Keep you elbows tucked in.” Jack stepped into the fireplace and straightened his body. He could feel a draft tugging at him and before he realized it he was pulled up the flue and popped out of the chimney. He hovered a moment in the air and was caught by Robertson Ay just as he started to fall.

“Told you to mind your elbows,” said Robertson Ay looking at Jack’s arm. Only then did he realize that his jacket sleeve had been torn and the skin scraped off his elbow. “It doesn’t hurt much,” said Jack. “No prob’ly not considering all you’ve been through,” said Robertson Ay. “Still I better wrap it up.” He opened the carpet bag to get another apron strip. This time Jack leaned over to look inside the bag. It was empty. He pulled himself up quickly and looked at Robertson Ay who ignored him and finished bandaging his elbow.

Now that they were both standing together Jack could see that Robertson Ay was tall--taller than Bert, and gangly. The two of them were on top of a large warehouse. Jack could see rooftop after rooftop stretching out for miles around them. Robertson Ay was looking off to the east at a small speck on the horizon. He smiled. “Looks like we might be gettin’ some extra help. Hope she brings us some lunch. I’m getting hungry, how about you?” Jack’s stomach gave a rumble and he nodded. 

“How…how did you find me?” asked Jack. “Heard the bell on your shoe,” answered Robertson Ay nodding towards Jack’s foot. “Had a feelin’ when we met that you might need some help. Wasn’t sure why, with Bert watchin’ you so careful, but thought maybe I better figure out a way to keep you from gettin’ lost. Trouble is you’ve got to be movin’ around a bit so the bell will ring and I gotta know you’re in trouble so I can start lookin’. Took a little longer to find you than I would’ve liked.”

Jack nodded. The dot on the horizon was getting bigger. Robertson Ay put his hand on Jack’s shoulder as they waited. Jack started to make out details and realized with a shock that it was a dark haired woman with an umbrella. As she drew closer he could see that she was carrying a small wicker basket over her arm. She had rosy cheeks and blue eyes and she looked stern and rather angry. Jack hoped she wasn’t angry with him.

“Who is she?” he asked.

“Why she’s Mary Poppins of course,” said Robertson Ay. “You mean to tell me that Bert hasn’t told you all about her?” 

Jack shook his head. “But…how is she flying,” he asked.

“The first thing you need to know about Mary Poppins,” warned Robertson Ay, “is that she never explains anything. Now mind your manners and do whatever she tells you.”

Mary Poppins landed smartly on the roof, closed her umbrella and addressed Robertson Ay directly. “You stole my bag.”

“Borrowed it,” said Robertson Ay without remorse. “I left a note.”

Mary Poppins sniffed and gave Robertson Ay a glance that would have curdled milk. “I do not lend my bag to anyone and especially not to you!”

“Now Mary, you know I wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t a real emergency.” He looked down at Jack. “If I hadn’t had it with me Jack here would’ve stuck his spoon in the wall this morning, and that’s a fact. His temperature was ‘Extremely Frightened’ and you know how serious that is.”

Mary Poppins now looked at Jack who was staring up at her. She really was astonishing. “Are you an angel?” he asked shyly.

“Certainly not,” she snapped. “Do you see any wings?”

“No,” he said smiling, “but you’re very pretty.” Mary Poppins’ expression softened a little and she almost smiled back. Then she returned her attention to Robertson Ay. “I don’t suppose while you were saving his life that it occurred to you to clean him up a bit.” She looked down at Jack. He was a mess with his soot and blood stained face and clothes. She took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his cheeks and nose. She flicked the dirty handkerchief and it disappeared. “There,” she said. “That’s better.” This time when she looked at Jack she noticed the bandages on his hand and elbow. Is that my apron?” She glared at Robertson Ay.

“It was,” he replied cheekily. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring lunch. Jack is very hungry.”

“I never forget,” said Mary Poppins handing the basket to Robertson Ay. “We shall feed this child at once and you will tell me everything.”

The picnic basket contained cold chicken, sausage rolls, cheese and crackers, pickles, deviled eggs and jam tarts. Jack had lemonade to drink and Mary Poppins and Robertson Ay had gin and tonics. While they ate Robertson Ay explained that Jack was living with Bert and had been stolen by Scrugg who had almost killed him and planned on finishing the job when he got home that evening. “And now,” he ended, “we need to get Jack back to Bert as soon as possible.”

“No,” said Mary Poppins firmly. “Not yet. Bert and Jack will never be safe as long as the sweep is around. If we return Jack now he will know the jig is up. The man will go back into hiding and plan something else equally egregious. We must take Jack somewhere safe and return this evening to deal with the sweep.” She looked up at the sky and continued, “We need to get moving. It’s going to rain.” She started packing the picnic things away in the basket and then pushed the basket into the carpet bag. She snapped it shut and stood up. With the bag in one hand and her umbrella tucked under her other arm she looked at the two seated figures. “Well don’t just sit there. Let’s go. Spit Spot.” She turned and walked towards the edge of the roof. Jack swallowed his last bite of lunch and looked at Robertson Ay with his eyes full of questions. Robertson Ay’s outfit had changed. His trousers had narrowed so they looked more like leggings and he was now wearing a red and yellow tunic that matched his socks and a tall peaked hat with a large brim. A row of small bells lined the brim of the hat and another row followed the hem of his tunic. Robertson Ay laughed and ran his finger around the hat brim making the bells jingle. “Jus my travelin’ clothes,” he said. He stood and held out a hand for Jack to take. The two followed Mary Poppins. 

“It’s gonna be a long walk,” said Robertson Ay. “How about a story to pass the time? Did you ever hear the one about the Dirty Rascal?”


	11. What's Inside

“No, the truth can’t be denied  
As I now have testified  
All that really counts and matters  
Is the special stuff inside.”*

Jack laughed and Robertson Ay sang as they went over the rooftops. It had been a wonderful journey. Mary Poppins led the way and Jack was sure she had twisted the smoke from the chimneys into paths and stairways that they used to move between the buildings. Robertson Ay kept a close eye on Jack and when his energy flagged and he started to stumble he insisted that Jack ride on his back. Jack liked Robertson Ay, almost as much as he liked Bert. He wondered why they weren’t friends. “Why does Bert say…that your gifts aren’t…safe?” asked Jack as Robertson Ay strode along the roofs of London behind Mary Poppins. Robertston Ay laughed. “You remember that do ya? Well it’s like this. Bert thinks I give gifts that make people unhappy and cause trouble. That Michael Banks that Bert knows, he thinks I gave him a gift to be an artist and when he grows up Michael won’t want to work in a bank like his father and grandfather. That’ll make his father very unhappy. They could even fight about it.”

Jack was still puzzled, but Robertston Ay continued. “Look I might as well explain. You won’t understand exactly but you might figure it out as you get older. I don’t give people gifts to paint a picture or write a story or sing a song. Ev’rybody’s born with gifts already inside. Trouble is most people just sorta sleep through life doin’ what they have to just to live. I gave Michael the gift of seeing what’s inside him. Ya might say I woke him up. Now he knows there’s somethin’ he wants to do more than anything else in the world and he’ll do it no matter what.”

They had rested a bit on the dome of St. Paul’s hidden by the London fog that was starting to embrace the city. Jack had peered down into the mist. The lamplighters were out early lighting the lamps in the fog. He watched as the lamps came alive and shone like strands of pearls woven through the streets. He thought it was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. They hadn’t been able to linger, Mary Poppins pushed them on to the destination she had in mind. Jack was glad when they finally stopped. His bruised legs and arms ached and he felt his clothes pulling on the welts on his back. 

It was just starting to rain. Mary Poppins opened her umbrella and spun it round by the handle. It left her hands and rose slowly forming a peak. Black and silver fabric flowed from the edges and Jack found himself in a round tent. The parrot head that had once been the umbrella handle was holding a lantern from its beak. The glow from the lantern was soft and warm, filling the tent with light. Jack thought he saw the upside down parrot head wink at him.

The canvas floor of the tent was covered with soft rugs and a small paraffin stove gave off cheery warmth without the usual smell. It was all so amazing and wonderful. Jack laughed and then he started to cry. He cried and cried and he couldn’t stop. “Oh dear,” said Mary Poppins and scooped him up in her arms. She sat down in the small rocker that had appeared beside the heater and slowly rocked him. “There, there,” she whispered. “It’s all right. I was afraid this would happen.”

“I want to go home,” cried Jack. “I miss my papa and Senora Amelia. I want my room and Teddy and my books. Where’s Bert, why can’t he come get me?”

Mary Poppins held him gently and let him cry until he was too tired to cry anymore. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a handkerchief that she used to wipe his eyes and nose. “Too much has happened and you’ve been with Robertson Ay all day. Usually he sleeps when he’s around children so they won’t have their feeling all jumbled and jiggled about.” She rose and placed Jack in the chair. She opened the carpet bag and pulled out a small wash basin and a pitcher. She sat the pitcher on the stove and tendrils of steam started to rise out of it. She put the basin on the floor and laid a fluffy white towel in it. She returned to Jack and started to take off his shoes and socks. 

“What are you doing?” he asked in a worried voice. 

“I’m going to give you a bath,” she said helping him off with his jacket. “It will make you feel better and help you fall asleep. We’ll have to put your dirty clothes back on in the morning but that can’t be helped right now.” Mary Poppins helped him take off his shirt and shorts than wrapped him in a big towel and removed his underclothes. She poured warm water from the pitcher into the basin and then picked Jack up still wrapped in the towel and lowered him into the bowl. Jack felt the warm water engulf him as he sank to the bottom and rested on the soft towel placed there. From beneath the surface of the water he was able to look up and see the glow of the lantern round and shining like a moon. He wiggled his toes and fingers and stretched. The warm water soothed his bruises and relaxed his tired muscles. The towel was so soft it didn’t hurt his back to lay on it. 

Presently Mary Poppins lifted him out of the basin and wrapped him in a quilt. She sat him in the rocking chair and put fresh bandages on his cut hand and scraped elbow. A little camp bed had been set up in the tent, but it wasn’t at all like the one in the sweep’s room. The sheets and pillowcases were sweet smelling and clean and the blankets soft. Mary Poppins tucked him in under the blankets and set down in the rocking chair close by. She picked up a set of knitting needles and a ball of red wool and started casting on stitches. Jack felt warm and safe. Across from them Robertson Ay sat in the Windsor backed chair and slept. “I told him he should take a nap so you could fall asleep,” said Mary Poppins busily knitting.

“I like Robertson Ay,” said Jack.

“Most children do,” she replied. 

“Bert…Bert doesn’t like…” Jack’s voice trailed off. 

“No, Bert doesn’t understand Robertson Ay,” said Mary Poppins. “Someday he might. But now you must sleep.” Jack nodded drowsily and closed his eyes. Soon he was deeply asleep.

Mary Poppins continued to knit. “He’s fast asleep, you may wake up now,” she said.

Robertson Ay stirred and stretched. “I shoulda been more careful,” he said. “Adults have more layers. Children’s feelings are so close to the top, and that one,” he said nodding towards Jack, “isn’t that complicated.”

“I don’t think there’s been any permanent harm done. It was good for him to cry it out. He’ll have fewer nightmares about what happened. Now we must deal with the sweep.” She gave Robertson Ay a calculating look. “How long has it been since you showed someone all at once what they were like inside?”

Robertson Ay smiled. “A good long time,” he said. “You never know what can happen when you show someone what they’re really like without any warning. Might be interestin’”

Mary Poppins smiled back. “I’m hoping it will be transformative,” she said.

****

Scrugg did not return to the warehouse where he had hidden Jack for the rest of the day. He was taking no chances on being followed. The office in the upstairs was locked tight and there was no way out or in. Given the beating he’d given the little rat the night before the boy was in no shape to try anything. A day spent without food or water should keep him tame for what he had planned for the evening. He chuckled. Maybe a little bit of fight would be a good thing. Give it a touch of authenticity. Give the boy just enough food and water and a bit of a rest before the fun began.

Scrugg spent the day in and around the neighborhood of the park. He had posted a letter that should reach the police the following morning. It told the same sad story he had told Bert in the park. A wicked chimney sweep had kidnapped a poor orphan and was forcing him to work and beg for him. The child was being held prisoner in an abandoned warehouse and the writer feared that the child might already be dead.

The sweep had shadowed Bert and Jack for weeks. He knew every step of Bert’s route from the park to the boarding house. Once he collected the money in the park he would take a shortcut and intercept Bert just outside an alley in a quiet part of the city. Killing him and hiding the body should be fairly easy. Then he’d go back to the warehouse and take care of the boy. By the time the police figured out that Bert hadn’t murdered Jack, Scrugg would be long gone and 100 pounds richer. 

It was almost too easy. Bert came alone to the park and left the money by the statue. Scrugg retrieved the packet and opened it immediately. He greedily counted the money and saw that is was exactly 100 pounds. He couldn’t believe his good fortune or the other man’s gullibility. He left the park and took the short cut to the alley where he waited quietly, knife in hand, to murder Bert. But his plans went wrong. A stranger from nowhere ran into Bert and asked directions. The stranger then proceeded to walk with Bert all the way back to the boarding house. Scrugg was not willing to take on two men in a fight. His plan hinged on not leaving witnesses and the chance was too great that one of them would get away. Furious and cursing he headed back to the warehouse. All was not lost. He still had the money and he had the boy. He even had Bert’s hat. The boy had been holding it when he stole him from the park. When the police searched the warehouse they would find the hat next to the body stained with the boy’s blood. Maybe they would hang Bert after all. Either way he’d make sure Bert knew how much the brat had suffered before he let him die.

Not far away from the alley Scrugg began to feel he was being followed. He ducked quickly into a doorway and waited to see if he was being tailed. When no one appeared Scrugg continued on his way, but the feeling that someone was behind him grew stronger. Soon he began to hear footsteps. The footsteps matched his tread almost exactly, and when he stopped the footsteps stopped too. He turned around. “Who is it? Who’s there?” he called. But he was alone. 

Moving quickly Scrugg headed toward the abandoned warehouse. The sense of being followed was getting stronger. For a second Scrugg thought he heard the sound of small bells. He reached up to scratch the top of his ear which had started to itch, but something didn’t feel right. He paused outside an empty storefront catching a glimpse of his dim reflection in the large front window. His ears definitely looked wrong. He leaned forward his hand still on his ear. Just then the derelict street lamp in front of the store flared to life and Scrugg’s reflection appeared clearly in the glass. Horrified Scrugg stared at the apparition in the window—the pointed, hairy ears and the lower teeth growing into tusks. His arm could no longer reach his ear. The limb was shortening and the fingers fusing into hooves. His clothes tore as his back broadened and he hunched over. His screams and curses turned to squeals and grunts. As his head and chest were pulled inexorably towards the ground Scrugg caught a brief glimpse of the two figures standing beside the lamp post. The woman with the umbrella smiled grimly as the tall man dressed in red and yellow laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The Cover Is Not the Book


	12. Found!

Chief Inspector Gregson wanted to spend the last day of work before his retirement quietly. As soon as the sergeant walked into his office with the letter he knew he would not get his wish. “You better look at this one sir,” said the sergeant. “Came in the morning post, I just opened it.”

Reluctantly the inspector accepted the paper and read the crudely written letter. He sighed. This was going to be bad, very bad. He took a deep breath. “All right,” he said. “Send in Inspector Andrews. Then I’d like you to go over to Swan Street to this Mrs. Simpson’s boarding house and bring in Mr. Herbert Alfred for questioning.” Sergeant Allen left and the Inspector returned his attention to the letter. Something about the letter sounded familiar—a chimney sweep and a child—where had he heard that before. Grimly he opened a drawer on his desk and started sorting through the newspaper clippings he kept there until he found what he was looking for. He reached for his phone and informed the operator he needed to make a long distance call to Manchester. He looked up as Inspector Andrews came in. He copied the address of an abandoned warehouse given in the letter and handed it to the Inspector. “Take another man with you. I need you to get into the warehouse any way you can and go up to the office on the third floor. It’s a potential crime scene.”

“What are we looking for?” asked Andrews.

“A body,” sighed the Inspector. “It won’t be good. It’s a child.”

A few hours later the office was in full investigative mode. Inspector Andrews and his partner had returned from the warehouse. They had to break into the third floor office where they had found traces of blood but no body. A hat marked with the initials H.A. had also been found. Mr. Herbert Alfred identified the hat as his, but denied that he had been in the warehouse or had done anything to harm the child whom he called Jack. His story that the child had been held for ransom was unlikely, especially for such an outrageous sum.

Mr. Wittenbach who had accompanied Bert to the station insisted that Mr. Alfred would never harm the child. He said he had important information. Two nights before he had seen Mr. Alfred return to the house alone. The following morning he had followed Mr. Alfred to the park at Cherry Tree Lane and observed him speaking to a big, rough looking man. He was certain that the man had something to do with the child’s disappearance. He insisted that the police must release Mr. Alfred and begin a search for the man he had seen in the park. 

While his staff questioned Mr. Alfred and Mr. Wittenbach, Chief Inspector Gregson spoke on the phone with his counterpart in Manchester. “You’re dealing with a real nasty customer if this Herbert Alfred is the man we’re looking for,” said the inspector on the other end of the call. “He uses a number of aliases but Charles Scrugg is his real name. He’s got multiple charges of petty theft, assault and battery and now murder. This would be the third or fourth child he’s done this to. The first case we know of was noticed by a shop keeper. He thought the child was being mistreated and confronted Scrugg. The creep took off and left the boy right there. Took a while to sort out, the child was profoundly deaf and couldn’t speak. He’d been misidentified as mentally impaired and sent to an asylum in Birmingham. The second little boy wasn’t so lucky. The body was found in a sack stuffed in a dust bin. Neighbors had seen him with Scrugg but nobody knew who he was—the boy never spoke to anyone. After that we went back and checked out cases that involved unidentified children. We’ve found one other case from a couple years back that we think we can link to him. There’ve been warrants out for his arrest for months. The picture in the paper is a good likeness. If you think this is the same guy we want him back here to face charges.”

“The letter that we received said that the child we are searching for was taken from Birmingham,” said Inspector Gregson. The man on the other end made a disgusted noise. “We think all the children came from Birmingham. I can’t go into all the details of the investigation, but we’re pretty sure there’s someone on the inside that smuggles them out for him. If you were to call the asylum and ask, I’m sure there will be no reports of missing children. Odds are there will be no record that your little boy even exists.”

Mr. Alfred did not resemble the picture in the newspaper at all, and he certainly did not look like a hardened criminal. Two men now appeared at the station asking to speak to the Chief Inspector. They identified themselves as private detectives.

“And who exactly are you working for?” asked Inspector Gregson looking at the business card he had been handed. 

“We were hired by Mr. Albert Dawes,” the first detective answered. 

“The banker?” asked the perplexed inspector. 

“No, his brother the philanthropist,” replied the detective. “Mr. Dawes instructed us to follow Mr. Alfred and ensure his safety. We followed Mr. Alfred to the park on Cherry Tree Lane and observed him leave a package under the statue. My partner stayed in the park while I followed Mr. Alfred home. I bumped into him and made an excuse so that I could accompany him to Swan Street. I kept the house under surveillance for the entire night. Mr. Alfred never left the premises.”

“Do you know what was in the package?” asked the inspector.

“I do,” said the detective. “The package contained ransom money in the amount of 100 pounds. Mr. Alfred’s young relative was being held hostage until the money was paid. Mr. Dawes feared that the child might already be dead and Mr. Alfred walking into a trap. Mr. Dawes made sure that the money could be identified should the kidnapper be caught. The bills were in sequential order and the numbers recorded. They were wrapped in paper and sealed with Mr. Dawes’ seal.”

“I waited in the park to see if someone would collect the packet,” said the second detective. “It was retrieved by a tall, heavyset man with graying hair. I saw that he was armed with a large knife and I tailed him from the park to an alley several blocks away. I lost him then and was unable to pick up his trail. We had hoped he would lead us to the child.”

Inspector Gregson was not surprised when he was told minutes later that a lawyer had appeared to represent Mr. Alfred.

“How does a chimney sweep named Herbert Alfred know Mr. Albert Dawes one of the richest men in London?” asked the Inspector.

“Mr. Alfred is an old and valued friend,” said the lawyer. “He’s a handyman, a regular jack of all trades. He’s done numerous jobs for Mr. Dawes and Mr. Dawes is very fond of him. Mr. Dawes is quite distressed by this situation. He is afraid that his friendship with Mr. Alfred may have made him the target of an unscrupulous criminal.”

Mr. Alfred was obviously distraught but had managed to tell the investigating officer how Jack had been taken in the park and about finding the note in the ruined teddy bear. He had given the note to the officer and gave him a detailed description of the sweep. Did Mr. Alfred have any idea why the man had stolen the child and demanded such an outrageous ransom that Mr. Alfred obviously could not pay. Bert had replied truthfully that the man said his “fancy friends” could afford it. 

The descriptions given by Mr. Alfred, Mr. Wittenbach, and the second detective matched the sketch of Charles Scrugg almost exactly. The crude, block letters on the note Bert had given the police matched the ones on the letter they had received that morning. The suggestion made by the lawyer that Mr. Alfred had been the target of a criminal and was being framed for a crime he didn’t commit was starting to sound more and more plausible.

Mr. Alfred appeared to have a great many friends. As the morning passed and word spread several people appeared at the station to vouch for Mr. Alfred’s character. Everyone was genuinely distressed that Jack was missing and all were praying for the little boy’s safe return. Included among them was Mr. George Banks, a respected member of the community, who said that Bert was the kindest person he had ever met and would never harm a child. Mr. Banks went so far as to say that he would trust Bert with his own children. Mr. Banks was accompanied by a retired Admiral who shouted a great deal. The Admiral called the policemen bilge swilling nincompoops and insisted they release Bert at once and start looking for Jack or he would have them all keelhauled.

In the midst of all the confusion a chimney sweep came running into the station. Breathless and panting the young man managed to whistle and get everyone’s attention. “We found him!” he cried. 

 

****

 

“Hey kid! Whatcha doin’ up here?” 

Jack awoke with a start. The tent and Mary Poppins had disappeared. He was back in his old clothes and he was face to face with a chimney sweep. Jack started to push himself backward to get away but found his way blocked by a second man. 

“Careful there, you’re gonna fall off the roof,” admonished the second man.

Too frightened to speak, Jack looked wildly between the two men for a way to escape.

 

“What’s the matter cat got your tongue,” said the first sweep. “Don’t be scared. We ain’t gonna hurt ya. Just need to know what you’re doin’ up here.”

“Yeah, this really ain’t the place for a little kid,” said the second man. “Why dontcha tell us your name. My name’s Charlie and this guy is Ray.”

“I’m Jack,” Jack managed to stammer out.

“Well Jack glad to meet you,” said Charlie. “Whereabouts do you live?”

Jack swallowed hard and then remembered the slip of paper pinned to his coat. He pointed to it and Charlie lifted it up to read the writing. “‘My name is Jack. If lost return to Bert Alfred at Mrs. Simpson’s Boarding House, Swan Street London.’ Crikey! I didn’t know Bert had a kid. Did you know that Ray?”

“No, how long you been livin with Bert?”

“Do.. do ..you know Bert?” Asked Jack

“Sure, he’s an old pal of ours,” said Ray. “Haven’t seen too much of him lately. So what’s the deal? Bert wouldn’t take anyone your age out on a job. Wouldn’t give you a black eye either. Geez you look like you’ve been in a war. What’s goin’ on?”

“I..I..I got stolen,” whispered Jack. “And Robertston Ay and Mary Poppins pulled me up the chimney and rescued me.”

“Mary Poppins eh?” said Charlie. “If she’s part of this we better get you back to Bert right away. Come on let’s get you off the roof. Do you think you can go down a ladder? Ray’ll go first and stay right behind you so you don’t fall off.” 

Jack hung back, he wasn’t’ sure he wanted to go with the men. “Are you good sweeps?” he asked.

“What kind of question’s that?” asked Ray. “Course we’re good sweeps, you ever met a bad one?”

When Jack didn’t answer Ray looked at him again closely. “Say are you the kid we was talking about at Christmas? The one that the guy calling himself a sweep was making clean chimneys? Bert was real worried about that little boy. Looks like he found you.”

Jack nodded. “The bad sweep stole me back.”

“Well you don’t need to worry no more about him. We got you now and once everybody knows you’re Bert’s kid we’ll all keep an eye out for you,” said Ray firmly.

“Besides,” said Charlie, “I bet Mary Poppins has fixed that old so and so good and proper.”

Carefully Charlie and Ray guided Jack down their ladder making sure he didn’t fall. It was difficult because he was still stiff and sore and his bandaged hand made it difficult to hold the ladder. Charlie wanted to know how he hurt his hand and Jack explained about the piece of glass. Charlie nodded and looked thoughtful. Once on the ground they arranged their equipment so Jack could fit in their cart and set off for Swan Street. Ray and Charlie liked to whistle and Jack began to hum along with them.

“Bet you know lots of songs living with Bert and all,” said Charlie. 

Jack nodded. “Bert likes to sing.” he said.

“Bet he doesn’t know this one,” said Charlie and began whistling another melody. Jack’s face lit up and he began to sing

“De colores, de colores  
Se visten los campos en la primavera.”

“Whoa!” exclaimed Charlie. “You know this one? Hablas espanol?”

“Si,” said Jack nodding happily.

Charlie laughed. “You just wait ‘til I see Bert. I’m gonna have you come over for Sunday dinner so you can talk to my gran. She’ll be so excited to have someone to talk to. She tries to teach us grandkids but we haven’t picked up on it much.”

Singing and whistling the trio made their way to Mrs. Simpson’s house. Jack was glad to be home. He felt tired and sore and he just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep. 

“We’re lookin’ for Bert,” explained Ray when Mrs. Simpson opened the door. “We got something that belongs to him.”

When Mrs. Simpson saw Jack in the cart she burst into tears and ran to the street and hugged him. “Oh Jack. I’ve been so worried and the police they’ve taken Bert to the station. They think he’s killed you or something.” 

“That’s mad,” said Ray. “Bert couldn’t hurt anyone let alone a kid. We gotta get down there right away.”

“I don’t know.” said Charlie. “Jack’s not lookin so good. He really needs to lie down.”

“You take Jack in and get him settled,” said Ray. “I’ll get to the police station.” And he took off running down the street. 

Mrs. Simpson took Jack and Charlie in the house and settled Jack on the couch in the parlor with a blanket and pillow. She pulled the drapes so it was dark and quiet and went to the kitchen to make warm milk and toast. Jack managed to eat a piece of toast and drink some of the milk, but before he knew it his eyes closed and he was drifting off to sleep. He heard Charlie telling Mrs. Simpson how brave he had been, sawing through the ropes on his legs with a piece of glass and climbing up the chimney to get away from the murderous sweep. Jack frowned slightly, that wasn’t how it happened. Robertson Ay and Mary Poppins had magicked him up the chimney and across the rooftops. But he was too tired to correct Charlie and before he knew it he was asleep. 

***

A large group of people accompanied Bert back to Mrs. Simpson’s house, but their way into the parlor was blocked by a doctor who only allowed Bert and Inspector Andrews into the room. The child, he informed them, would recover but he had been through a harrowing ordeal and needed rest and quiet. Mr. Banks, who had caught a glimpse of Jack’s bruised face and bandaged hand through the parlor door, realized the justice of the doctor’s statement and urged everyone to go home.

Jack thought he must have slept for a long time because when he woke up it was afternoon and someone had changed him into a clean nightshirt. Bert was sitting in a nearby chair with his head leaned back and his eyes closed. He wasn’t asleep because as soon as Jack moved Bert was right beside him. Jack flung his arms around Bert’s neck and Bert hugged him back, but not very tight because he was trying to be careful. Bert sat down on the couch and let Jack lean against him while he gently wrapped his arm around the little boy. Only then did Jack notice the other man sitting in the room with them.

“Hello Jack,” said the man. “My name is Inspector Andrews. I need to ask you a few questions about what happened to you. Do you feel well enough to talk to me?”

Jack nodded and Bert tightened his arm reassuringly around him. In the background Jack heard the doorbell and Mrs. Simpson saying. “Oh, come in Doctor.”

“Can you tell me what happened in the park?” asked the inspector.

“I was hiding,” said Jack. “Something…over my nose. It smelled bad.”

“Probably chloroform,” said another voice. It was the doctor coming into the parlor. His bright red socks looked out of place with the rest of his dark suit. “Looks like our patient has woken up, I bet you don’t remember me do you? You were sound asleep when I was here earlier.” He motioned Bert to move out of his way and had Jack lay back down again. 

“Do you remember how many times the cloth was put over your nose?” asked the doctor. Jack frowned in concentration. “Two… three…,” he said. The doctor made a disgusted sound and looked over at Inspector Andrews. “Very stupid and extremely dangerous,” he said. “He could have easily overdosed him and stopped his heart.”

The doctor took Jack’s pulse and then listened to his chest with the stethoscope. He tucked the stethoscope back into the carpet bag he was carrying instead of a typical doctor’s bag. He propped Jack up with an extra pillow so he was half sitting. “Had anything to eat or drink yet,” asked the doctor. Jack shook his head. “All right, we need to get as many fluids in you as possible. Ah here’s Mrs. Simpson with some broth.” He took the cup from Mrs. Simpson and handed it to Jack. “Now you sip on that and try to get the whole thing down before I leave.” 

“Do you think I might be able to finish my questioning?” asked the Inspector.

“If you’re quick about it and don’t tire him too much,” said the doctor. 

“Jack do you recognize the man in this picture?” asked the inspector holding out a newspaper clipping of a police sketch.

Jack nodded.

“Is this the man that hurt you?”

Jack nodded. “He hit me.”

“Do you know what his name is?”

Jack shook his head.

“Do you know how you got away?”

“I went up the chimney,” said Jack. 

“You climbed out the chimney all by yourself?” asked the inspector.

“Certainly looks like it,” the doctor said. “The skin’s scraped right off his knees and elbows. He lifted the sleeve on Jack’s nightshirt to show the inspector his skinned elbow.”

“And after you got out of the chimney,” asked Inspector Allen. “What did you do next?”

“I…” Jack hesitated trying to figure out how to explain Robertson Ay and Mary Poppins and the walk they had taken over the roof tops.

“Now, now you need to lie still and rest,” said the doctor. He turned to the inspector. “He won’t make a bit of sense. The two that found him said he was talking about angels helping him. Says they took him for a walk over the roofs and sang songs to him. One of them actually flew. He was in a state of profound shock. Well it stands to reason after all that happened.”

Jack looked up at the doctor who looked back and gave him wink with the eye the inspector couldn’t see. 

“Yes, I can see that,” said the inspector. “I think that’s all I need to know for my report.” He stood to leave. He shook Bert’s hand. “Mr. Alfred, I’m glad that this has had a happy ending. You’ll contact us immediately if you see this man again. Don’t try to handle it alone.”

“I will,” said Bert, “and thank you.” As Mrs. Simpson escorted the inspector to the door Bert turned back to Jack and the Doctor. 

“Angels?” asked Bert looking at the doctor. “Did they have wings?”

“No,” said the doctor, “but one was really pretty. At least Jack thought so.” Robertson Ay (because that’s who the doctor was) smiled down at Jack. “I was serious about you drinking that broth.” He looked at Bert. “He needs to drink plenty of liquids and sleep as much as possible. Oh and I almost forgot, my other patient is all better too.” Robertson Ay opened the carpet bag and took out a teddy bear dressed in a knitted red vest and long stocking hat. Instead of a tassel there was a little silver bell on the end of the cap. 

“Teddy!” cried Jack. “I thought you were lost!” Bert took Jack’s cup and set it on the table so the little boy could hug his bear.

“Nice bit of stitching you did there,” said Bert.

Robertson Ay nodded. “Good as new. It was a friend of mine that did the actual sewing. You might know her.” He looked at Bert and then back at Jack. “He’s going to need Teddy at night to help with the bad dreams, but he doesn’t have anything to be afraid of during the day,” said Robertson Ay. “Neither do you,” he added looking back at Bert.

“Thank you,” said Bert earnestly.

“Are you going away?” asked Jack as Robertson Ay stood up and picked up the carpet bag.

“’Fraid so,” said Robertson Ay looking down at Jack and smiling. “It’s time for me to move on. 

“Will you come back?”

“I dunno,” Robertson Ay replied. “I don’t think you’ll be needing my help again. The kind of magic you’ll be needing now is the kind Bert is best at. He’s going to take real good care of you.” 

“But what about...,” Jack’s voice trailed off. 

“Now don’t you go worrying about the sweep,” said Robertson Ay. “Mary Poppins and I took care of him. He can’t hurt you anymore.” 

“Promise?” asked Jack. 

“Promise,” said Robertson Ay. “Just don't forget the song I taught you about what's inside that counts.”

"I won't forget." said Jack.

"No," said Robertson Ay, "I don't think you will."


	13. Epilogue

The police report was finished in the afternoon before Inspector Gregson left to begin his retirement. There were still questions that weren’t answered to his satisfaction. A call to the asylum in Birmingham had confirmed that there weren’t any missing children—at least none that they were admitting to. However, Mr. Alfred had not entirely explained how Jack was related to him, or how they had crossed paths with the sweep. Mr. Dawes’ lawyer when questioned had replied sententiously that the lower classes had a more informal sense of family. It was not uncommon for friends to step in and take the place of aunts and uncles. In any case, Mr. Dawes firmly believed that the fewer children in institutions the better. And now that Mr. Dawes was aware of his friend’s situation he would be taking the proper steps to make everything legal. Inspector Gregson decided to let the lawyers sort it out.

Inspector Andrews also had unanswered questions, but his were more metaphysical. After seeing Jack’s blood stained and sooty clothes he believed the child had escaped out of the chimney. But how an injured child had climbed a chimney and wandered through London in the fog and the rain, only to be safely found less than a mile from his home was hard to explain. Someone must have helped. In the deepest part of his heart Inspector Andrews believed in angels. He was glad they’d shown up this time. He only wished they would do it more often.

*** 

Uncle Albert wasted no time putting his team of detectives to work. They had conferred with Constable Jones and started their search. Bert now had a copy of Jack’s birth certificate showing that Jack had been born in London, within earshot of the bells of St. Mary-le-Bow, making the little boy a citizen of London and a true Cockney. They had also discovered the whereabouts of the home he had lived in most of his life. It was Uncle Albert who broke the news to Jack that Senora Amelia had passed away and her home had been sold. Neither he nor Bert had anticipated Jack’s grief. Jack had genuinely loved the old lady. Childlike, he had planned that he and Bert would go back to her house and Bert would help her take care of it like his papa had.

Privately Uncle Albert had only disgust for Amelia’s heir. That young man had called a social worker within hours of his aunt’s death and quickly rid himself of the orphaned child she had promised to care for. Her house and possessions had been broken up and sold within weeks, and he had returned to the city with the bulk of her fortune safely deposited in his bank accounts. Uncle Albert wondered if the nephew had deliberately neglected to mention that the child’s parents were immigrants and the boy didn’t speak English. Or that Spanish naming traditions placed the mother’s surname last. Uncle Albert had been furious to find Jack described as illegitimate, uncooperative and unable to communicate in the hastily written report which had recommended that the child be sent to an institution for the mentally impaired.

Uncle Albert had accompanied Bert and Jack on a train to the pretty village 60 miles from London. There in the small church yard they had found the graves of Jack’s parents. They had left a wreath next to the headstones placed there by Senora Amelia. The parish priest had been kind and helpful. He had not known Jack’s parents well, they attended church infrequently, but he owned a brownie camera and liked taking pictures of his congregation. He gave Jack an envelope containing several photos he had taken of Jack and his parents. Bert had studied the pictures noting Jack’s strong resemblance to his mother and how young the couple had been. Bert hoped he could raise their son in a way that would make them happy.

 

On a sunny day in December Bert and Jack sat in the dining room of the boarding house eating breakfast. Mrs. Simpson and Mr. Wittenbach were also at the table reading and discussing the stories in the morning papers. “So wicked and so sad for all those poor children,” Mrs. Simpson murmured. She was reading the latest article about an asylum in Birmingham recently closed by the authorities. An investigation had uncovered numerous cases of abuse and mistreatment. “And it was supposed to be a safe place for them,” she continued, “so they could learn trades and make a contribution to society.” Children had been found tied in beds and starved. Some had simply disappeared. Questions had been asked in Parliament and the investigation was ongoing

Bert looked over at Jack concerned that he might be upset by the ongoing discussion. Jack was pale and his eyes were fixed on the front page of the paper Mr. Wittenbach was reading. Quickly Bert glanced at the paper to see what was upsetting him. DOCKSIDE DEVIL ON DISPLAY read the headline above the picture of a caged, snarling animal that looked like a cross between a wild boar and a warthog. The Dockside Devil was the name given by the London papers to the creature roaming the neighborhood by the wharfs. It had taken weeks to catch, and the hunt for the beast had captured London’s imagination. It was surprisingly smart, almost human the papers said. Nobody knew where it came from or how long it had been living in London. Descriptions had varied about its size and ferocity. Gangs of men and boys had roamed the warehouse district trying to catch it. Eventually it seemed that every chimney sweep, dock worker, lamplighter and costermonger in the city was down by the docks searching. The creature had been captured two days ago and was now on display for the public to see. The authorities were still arguing whether it should be euthanized and dissected, or put in a zoo and studied.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” asked Mr. Wittenbach noticing Jack’s expression.

“El Cuco,” whispered Jack his eyes wide and frightened.

“What, who…” asked Mr. Wittenbach.

“He comes down the chimney and puts bad children in his sack,” whispered Jack.

Mr. Wittenbach turned the paper around and looked at the picture. “What, this poor creature?” he said. “This is just some wild animal that escaped from a ship or a traveling carnival. He doesn’t even have hands to hold a sack. Do you know who comes down the chimney with a sack? Father Christmas and he’s only coming to put a present in your stocking.” Mr. Wittenbach stood up from the table and held out his hand for Jack to take. “Come,” he said firmly, “We must practice your song for tonight. Everyone will be here to hear it.”

As if waking up from a bad dream Jack smiled. He took Mr. Wittenbach’s hand and happily accompanied him to the piano in the parlor. Bert let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. From the parlor he could here Jack picking out the melody of a Christmas carol as Mr. Wittenbach filled in the chords beneath it. Mr. Wittenbach had been a professor of music in Berne, Switzerland. “I taught piano, violin and music composition,” he explained to Bert. “When my wife died I took all our money and set out traveling. I ran out of money in London and so here I stayed. I thought I would never teach music again. But when I saw the child at the piano and could see how happy he was making the melodies, I knew why I was so miserable. I miss teaching and having students.” So far Jack was his only student and the youngest he had ever taught. “But soon,” said Mr. Wittenbach, “I shall put an advertisement in the paper and I may get some more pupils.”

Tonight’s recital would be the first of the evening musicales Mr. Wittenbach wanted to establish in the boarding house. Bert had invited all the people who had helped them so much. Admiral Boom, Mr. Binnacle, Mrs. Brill and Constable Jones would all be there. Mr. Banks had regretfully declined—they would be out of town visiting family. Uncle Albert was not sure he would be able to attend. He feared the sight of Bert’s happiness would make him float up to the ceiling in front of all the guests. He was thinking of stuffing his pockets with gold sovereigns hoping that the weight and the responsibility of so much money would keep him anchored to the floor. It occurred to Uncle Albert that he had enough money to buy a piano of his own and Jack could come over and play it. It was such a happy thought that he bumped his head on the ceiling when his feet shot off the floor.

The recital began with Jack and Mr. Wittenbach playing Away in the Manger. Jack played the single notes of the melody while Mr. Wittenbach filled in the chords underneath. When they were done Jack bowed like Mr. Wittenbach had taught him as all the adults clapped. Next Bert sang a rousing rendition of Knees Up Mother Brown and showed off a few dance steps. Mrs. Simpson followed with a sentimental piano arrangement of The Lost Chord. Now it was Jack’s turn again. Slowly and carefully he played the melody of Silent Night with his right hand and added the root of the chord with his left hand. It was the first song he had played with both hands and he was very proud as he took his second bow of the evening. The concert ended with Mr. Wittenbach playing the first movement of the Moonlight Sonata. But it wasn’t over yet. Mr. Wittenbach explained that a music student should not only learn to read notes but use his ears as well. Jack had been using his ears and had a special surprise for Bert. 

Jack took his place next to Mr. Wittenbach on the bench. This time there was no sheet music in front of him. Mr. Wittenbach began playing a chord pattern in three quarter time. After a few repetitions Jack began to play--Tum ta ta tum, , Tum ta ta tum, tum tum tum tum. Bert’s heart swelled with happiness as he recognized the tune. “Chim chiminey, chim chimeney chim chim cheree,” he hummed softly to himself. “A sweep is as lucky, as lucky could be.” That song had never been written down, it had only been sung. Now Jack was playing it on the piano. Bert was so proud of him. A little knot of worry Bert had been carrying inside relaxed. It was good to know that after all he had been through Jack wasn’t afraid of every chimney sweep, and that he trusted one particular chimney sweep to take care of him.

The two people sitting quietly on the roof of the boarding house listened with enjoyment to the music coming up through the chimney. As Jack played Mary Poppins tapped her foot. She looked over at Robertson Ay who leaned against the chimney a broad smile on his face. “Are you sure you didn’t give him a little extra help with his music when he was with us?” asked Mary Poppins. 

“Didn’t have to,” said Robertston Ay. “Lots and lots of natural talent, I could feel it the first time I met him. He has to practice and figure out what he’s gonna do with it just like everybody else. Least now he has a chance.”

“He does indeed,” agreed Mary Poppins. “He does indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! That is the longest story I have ever written. Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed and gave kudos. It was very encouraging.


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